


Lock Me Down

by MermaidsandMermen (SophiaSoames), pagnilagni



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: COVID-19, Lockdown 2020, M/M, Pandemics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:13:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23716501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaSoames/pseuds/MermaidsandMermen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pagnilagni/pseuds/pagnilagni
Summary: So what does a stressed out single dad do, when his neighbour starts to teach himself how to play the guitar? Well he does what any self-respecting human being would do. He starts a zombie war, armed with his daughter's arsenal of Nerf guns.Nah. Not really.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Comments: 489
Kudos: 346





	1. EVEN

**Author's Note:**

> Sophia and Pagni have both been through the Lockdown wars over the last couple of weeks, and this is us doing what we both do best.  
> Fasten your seatbelt, put your Alexa on timer, and ensure you have a cup of coffee at hand. 
> 
> Enjoy. All the love, S and P xxx

It’s true what they say. Don’t wish for something until you actually think it through, and think it through properly. Twice, and perhaps more, even then, go write those wishes down on paper. Then sleep on it before you make that wish.

Because Even Bech Næsheim, always wished for more time. More time to spend with the kids, more time to spend renovating his apartment, more time to cook, more time to read. Perhaps even time to catch up with Netflix and sort out his home office. Because this working from home thing is nothing new, he’s done it before when the kids were smaller, when he was unwell, when the kids were unwell. He’s completed whole projects from the small back room where he works, the room that is supposed to be a storage closet, but is the only place left to hold his work kit and equipment and screens, that has a lockable door and a gate to keep the kids out. Because there are things in there the kids shouldn’t see, and definitely equipment that wouldn’t survive a badly aimed Brio train, or god forbid a flying Nerf bullet. He keeps telling the kids, keeps hiding the damn Nerf guns, but to no avail. They had made rules as parents when Thor was born, no violent toys, no gun toys, no plastic crap. Yeah right. Even’s apartment is overflowing with the stuff, and Sonja is absolutely no help whatsoever. Not that he blames her, because they are both, the worst parents ever.

They are in lockdown. Quarantine. Bloody Corona Virus shite. Whatever. Home schooling, home office, home entertainment, and the only breather he gets is at night when the kids finally fall asleep in his bed, because none of them have grasped that they have their own rooms. Not that they care, when they go and stay with Sonja, they all sleep in her bed. Then they come home and sleep in his. The little brats.

Not that he will get that break from the kids this week either, because Sonja is working as much overtime as she can manage, being a surgeon at the University Hospital, and is of course at risk from transmitting the damn virus and they decided early on that she should not have the kids anywhere near her, until this whole shit show of a pandemic is over. They facetime, and message all the time, and Even sometimes thinks he loves her more now then he did when they were together. It’s not supposed to work like that, he knows that, and he knows how damn lucky he is to have his family, and he counts Sonja as family. More than family.

These kids though. Right now he is trying to find the damn cheese slicer so he can make toasted sandwiches in the oven, because Thor has been learning about the UK and Brexit at school, and the project this week is to make an English dish at home. The parents in the group chat are showing off bloody Yorkshire Puddings, and roast dinners in carefully doctored Instagram worthy photos, but Even knows better. He can barely make something edible as it is, so he is making beans on toast. With Cheese. He would add cheese to the pathetic looking toaster loaf that he is spreading out over the baking tray if he could find the darned cheese slicer, and because he has no more baking parchment left, and he couldn’t get any in the shop, because the world has apparently gone mad and everyone is at home baking crap and Even just wants to scream because all he wants to do is get all his normal online basket of food delivered and get on with it. He hates shopping for food. He hates baking. He hates making all those little lovely chocolatey biscuits and creating sugar coated memories with his children. He leaves that bit to Sonja, who can’t cook to save her life either. Hence his kids will grow up with permanent damage to their rose-tinted childhood memories.

Well, nobody ever died from their parents not making Viennese biscuits and posting them on Instagram for the world to see, he thinks to himself as he grabs a knife and manhandles the poor piece of cheese into some wonky slices, that he throws on the pathetic cheap bread, before sliding the tray into the oven and slamming the door shut.

“You could have added sliced tomatoes.” Thor snarls, throwing his iPad on the table. “Can you check my essay? It sucks.”

Thor. He’s 12. Going on 18. He pretends he’s vegetarian, and snarls at Even’s blatant refusal to buy him vegan cheese. Not going to happen. Even can barely feed his family as it is, without the added complications of an imposed ethical food intolerance to deal with.

“Ask your sister.” Even huffs out.

“She’s 6.” Thor says, his voice full of defeat. “You didn’t hear a word of what I was saying, did you? Can you read my bloody essay or what?”

“Where do you get all this bad language from?” Even whines, sitting himself down on the kitchen chair, throwing the wet kitchen towel over his shoulder, only to throw it on the floor in disgust. Now his shirt is wet. The last of his clean shirts. He needs to book another laundry appointment in the basement laundry room. He forgot, again, because that old lady who lives on the ground floor was standing there and he’s kind of scared of her, so ran off instead of going up and booking his appointment. That’s the kind of person Even Bech Næsheim has become. Someone who can’t man up to a little old lady with aggressive tendencies, and who can’t remember to book his laundry appointments when he’s actually down in the laundry room. Like normal people would.

“YouTube.” Thor heckles, finishing his words with an evil laugh. Then he sits down opposite his father, pushing the iPad across the table. “Check it?”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” Even sighs. Because Thor is usually word perfect with these kinds of things, having inherited his mother’s constant strife for perfection.

“Just read it, Dad. Pretend that you are really into English Literature.”

“It’s a Harry Potter spinoff, T.” Even sighs.

“Dad, it’s fine English Literature. You should try watching the films sometime, without falling asleep before the opening credits are even over. You are such a grown-up.”

“That is because I am a grown-up.” Even lies. He’s hardly a grown-up.

“No, you are just my designated adult.” Thor smirks. “Mum is grown up, she has a responsible job saving lives. We are stuck with you most of the time, and you can barely get up in the morning.”

“ I get up.” Even laughs.

“We are always late for school.” Thor counters.

“At least we get there.” Even tries. He knows, it’s useless. He admits defeat and picks up the iPad, fishing his glasses out of his shirt pocket, before placing them on his nose so he can read. Age hasn’t matured him, one bit, apart from his vision that has gone dodgy. There is nothing wrong with his hearing though, as the first chord thunders through the ceiling.

“Oh, biscuits!” Thor shouts, covering his ears with his hands. “Here he goes again.”

“As long as he doesn’t sing.” Even whines.

“Oh, he will sing. Just wait.” Thor laughs, and looks at the ceiling. “Any minute now.”

It’s a new thing, the neighbour upstairs. He moved in a few months back, and Even has only seen him rush past on the stairs, a tall bloke, huddled under the weight of a rucksack. There’s a kid too, they can hear shouting and running around sometimes, but it hasn’t been a problem. Not until now. Not until the bloke decided to teach himself to play the guitar. Even supposes that this lockdown thing does strange things to humans, since it makes them think that this extra time on their hands should be spent picking up new skills. Learning a language. Baking strange inedible concoctions that cause your kitchen to explode. Even has barely kept up with his own work, yet his two children are surprisingly still alive, and Sonja still speaks to him, so at least he’s doing something right.

“Please make it stop!” Thor shouts, banging his head against the kitchen table. “How am I supposed to do my homework with all this noise going on?”

“And there goes the timer!” Even shouts over the deafening chords from upstairs. “Dinner’s ready!” Not that the kids can hear him, because not only is the bloke strumming the guitar, he also has it plugged in to some sort of loudspeaker, so the sound booms like ripples through the walls, making the cutlery on the worktop bounce as Even slides the tray of cheese topped bread out from the oven.

“Look, T, here is the classic British dish, cheese on toast. Tonight, we are adding baked beans as well, for a British twist, and that is what the English eat for dinner. OK?”

“Can’t hear you!” Thor shouts from under the kitchen table, where he is taking shelter from the noise from upstairs.

“BISCUITS!” Even shouts. Yeah, because you don’t shout swearwords in front of your children, and Thor came up with _Biscuits_ , to use instead, and that is what they shout when things are shite. And now the bloke upstairs is singing. His droning voice, again completely out of tune.

“It’s smoke on the water.” Even whines, as Thor laughs.

“Sing it, Dad.”

“No way!”

“Look, he’s coming up to the chorus! Let’s all join in!”

“I can sing it better than the dickhead upstairs.” Even mocks, throwing his fist up at the ceiling. “Can you sing it in tune, mate?” He shouts at the white plasterboard, knowing full well the bloke upstairs can’t hear a thing, his badly out of tune guitar riffs being drowned out by a bit of additional feet stomping and there is the singing again.

“It sounds like he is being strangled.” Thor giggles, sticking his head out from under the table, looking up at the kitchen light, that is swaying dangerously above them.

“The light is dancing again.” Freya shouts, standing in the doorway, holding a Nerf gun tight to her chest. “Can you make it stop, Daddy?”

“I can’t make it stop.” 

“I can shoot at it?” Freya offers, pointing the Nerf gun to the ceiling, shooting off a yellow foam bullet with a determined look on her face.

“Yeah, make it stop, Dad.” Thor mocks. Because he is a little shit, and Even just stares at him.

“I am not going to go up and cause a scene.” Even sighs.

“Can you bang on the ceiling with the broom again?” Freya smiles, running over to the cupboard, dragging the broom out, alongside about 20 reusable shopping bags, that dance across the floor, making Freya twirl around, laughing at the mess she just created.

“Broom?” Even says, shaking his head.

“Do it, Dad.” Thor eggs on.

“Make it stop!!” Freya shouts, clapping her hands, bouncing up and down like the ball of energy she is.

“Take this, you bad singing wannabe rockstar!” Even shouts, banging the broom handle, hard, at the ceiling.

“Stop it!” Freya shouts, picking the Nerf gun up again, aiming it up in the air, shooting off anohter round of yellow bullets.

“Biscuit eater!” Thor joins in, crawling out from under the table. “BISCUIT EATER!”

Even wants to shout. Scream. Curl into a ball on the floor.

“Look, he’s not going to stop. Can we just sit down and eat?”

“Are there meatballs?” Freya asks.

“It’s English food for dinner.” Thor explains. It’s not really. It’s a mess of melted cheese on bread that has now gone cold. And the baked beans are still sat in a bowl in the microwave oven.

“I want meatballs!” Freya shouts.

“But it’s not English, Freya!” Thor shouts back.

“Can you stop shouting!” Even tries, as the bloke upstairs launches into ….

“Queen!” Thor laughs. “God help us, he’s trying to do ‘I want to break free!’ “

“How do you know?” Freya pouts. “It just sounds like noise to me.”

“It is noise, but listen, ta da da da da daaa daaaa. Ta da da daddada daaa daaa. That’s the chorus. ”

”No, he’s doing Peppa pig. Listen, it’s Peeeepppa Pig, snort!”

”BISCUIT!” Thor shouts. ”Dad, do the broom again.”

“Not going to help.” Even sighs, “Please kids, can we just eat?”

“What is that?” Thor says, poking his finger into the now cold congealed cheese on the plate Even hands him.

“Food.” He tries.

“I’m not going to eat that.” Freya turns her nose up, sitting herself down at the table. “I said Meatballs.”

“Do I need to write this down on my report?” Thor sighs. “This is embarrassing Dad, is this really what the English eat?”

“I went on one of those language trips when I was a teenager, and we stayed with an English family and they made this for us. So yes. This is what English people eat.

“It looks disgusting.” Freya sighs, and pushes her plate away. “I’ll just have a glass of milk. Can I have ice cream for dessert?”

“We only have dessert at the weekend…” Even starts, before the noise upstairs accelerates into something that suddenly is intolerable. Some kind of screeching noise followed by a steady drumbeat.

“And, he has bought, a drum machine.” Thor professes, sounding like a doomsday voice from hell.

It’s day 18 of lockdown, but it seems like day 328, at least. It’s also the day Even Bech Næsheim snaps, because there is only so much a father can take from his kids, there is also just that much time a father can take, without a single break to clear his head. This is the day, when Even Bech Næsheim stomps out of his flat, leaving the door wide open behind him as he takes the steps two at a time up to the 4th floor of their building in suburbian Oslo. He doesn’t stop to think about social distancing measures, or virus protection, or perhaps wearing some ill advised gloves, before banging his fist against the door, hard. The door that bears the name Valtersen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, inspiration yields inspiration. So why not write a lockdown fic or two (pagni also co-writes one in Norwegian) on top of other works we may or may not be working on, on top of home schooling and our day jobs from home (well, not really for the cabin crew in this pair, I guess. Or she may be serving a lot of drinks at home. Or just drinking them.). Oh well. Hope you like it.


	2. ISAK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak POV. (You kind of know the drill already.)

Isak Valtersen is tired. He has been working his ass off for the past weeks, and trying to keep himself busy with things so he won’t go mad. He should be happy he has a job, of course, that he is not on temporary or permanent leave, even if the monotony is eating him and he hardly knows what day it is. 

He is glad he can work from home at least, that his home is not full of kids and spouses all trying to cram into too small flats and too few rooms. He has seen plenty of kids running around during the last weeks, in the video conferencing app behind their parents with the camera on, clinging to them, rinsing their snot off on adult clothes, or needing help with homework or begging for Nutella for breakfast. Having a normal, calm morning meeting seems almost impossible, he has been considering asking for a new time for them, or to simply skip them. Doing planning by email somehow seems easier.

The neighbours downstairs seem to have plenty of kids. It sometimes sounds like at least five of them if you go by all the shouting. But he knows they are only three there people living there, two kids and a father, and sometimes a woman comes by who is probably the kids’ mother. She rarely stays over, but she hugs them all and he has heard one of the kids, the youngest one, call her mum when passing on the stairs. The kids have been gone every other week until recently. Since lockdown started they have been staying here 24/7, and the woman has been gone. He once saw her in green scrubs so he guesses she works in a healthcare facility somewhere. One of the heroes, he thinks, the frontline workers, people prepared to die for him. or probably not for him, and probably not prepared to die any more than he is, but still. Frontline workers.

Isak can’t pride himself with any such medal of honor. He is a computer programmer, working for a project for a random consulting company in a random government office with shitloads of people like himself. Luckily the projects go on, despite everyone working from home. He is used to it himself, he has done so for his entire career, worked from wherever and only met with the client from time to time, that has been his favourite way of working. This client wanted him to work onsite, though, and he did so for an entire two days before the lockdown started and he was told to go home. Unlike most of his colleagues he already had a proper place to work. A decent desk, good chair in front of a neutral background for video conferences, two large monitors, lamp, a place for his coffee cup that is not by the dining table, a headset that doesn’t make him look like a telemarketer or a space control center operator. If he had kids they would not be sat right next to him, spreading their notes and computers and headsets and toys and drawings all over his space. 

He went out shopping yesterday. He has considered online grocery shopping before, but he likes to see the products, to choose his own produce, to read labels, compare sizes, look at the design. He has done his weekly shopping for ages, so this corona shopping is not much different. He already had a bag of toilet paper, he buys in bulk from a school band fundraising. So he got the normal meals, just doubled up for extra measures, and then he should be sorted for the next two weeks. 

The project at work seems to have come to a temporary stall now. It will probably boost again tonight, or another day when the kids around his colleagues are working better on their homework. Isak does understand that chatting with their friends or watching Netflix beat Bible history or counting squares any time. He can as well take a break now, he has finished the part he said he would do today, and is waiting for feedback from the rest of the team.

He goes into the kitchen to make bread from the sourdough he finished yesterday evening. Overnight no-knead bread is so simple and so good, and all the time at home gives a lot of time to do it. Besides he uses his sourdough starter for everything, so he doesn’t have to bother about the hoarders emptying the shop shelves or the shortage of yeast either.

He bakes a lot, he has a lot of recipes he loves, and posts pictures of them on his instagram account. “A picture perfect” world, some people call it, but to him it’s not perfect, it’s just the way they are. He is not to blame for the natural light that sweeps through his windows, making perfect light cones for the wooden kitchen bench at the right time, neither is he to blame for creative baking with good results. He started baking several years ago and now he gets 10k likes on a picture and a recipe. He gets loads of comments from people he doesn’t know or care about, to him they are unknown nobodies yet he still counts them. He could probably get some income from ads and sponsors, but he hasn’t bothered to try. Then he’d just have to please them and he doesn’t want to care about that either. He could probably also make a good baking book with his recipes, but he can’t be arsed to do that either. It’s not what he wants to do for a living, so why bother.

He cleans off the kitchen bench when he is done, throws the rag in the basket next to the garbage station, grabs a sole tomato from the bowl next to the fruit bowl, picks up a crumb, puts a mug into the dishwasher. All normal activities that he probably does ten times a day. He is not an especially tidy or neat person, he just likes to have a calm home.

And then there is the guitar. The darned guitar. It was a bet, of course. The boys against himself, Jonas said he couldn’t learn to play during the lockdown, and Isak who said he could. So here he is, with one of Jonas’ guitars, contact-lessly brought to him by giggly Jonas himself, the last he had seen to his friends for weeks now. 

Isak has been practicing every day, but as the days pass he leans towards Jonas being right. He can’t play. And he can’t sing. Because apparently singing goes along with guitar playing, you can’t do the other without the first. He has tried loads of songs and tunes, been through everything he knows (but rap is really not guitar friendly) and loads of crap he had no plans about knowing. He is considering giving up, even though it will earn him hell from Jonas for ages. And from Lisa, Jonas’ daughter. She is 9 and has the most velvet soft voice in the world, according to Jonas. Even Isak can hear she is better off than himself, she actually sounds like the artists she covers, not like a horny cat or a creaky old floorboard being pulled out. Now she has been trying to teach him to sing over skype for two weeks. She calls him every night, and every night he can see Jonas giggling in the background, like an inverted homeschooling-meets-homeoffice situation.

Isak just doesn’t get any better. No progress. His ear for music sucks, he couldn’t hold a tune if his life depended on it, and he was told to mime instead of singing out loud in his aunt’s wedding a few years ago, even if she wanted all her nieces and nephews to sing in church. He has downloaded apps for his phone, apps to teach him how to hit a tune, how to hold it, how to find the right chord on the guitar… Watched hours of youtube videos about the same, all kinds of music, musicals like Grease and Mamma Mia, because apparently they would be easy to sing along, concerts with crappy bands he has never listened to before, he has even tried to play guitar with rap music he has known by heart for years, but that failed spectacularly. Now he has installed a drum machine app on his phone, combining it with a sing-along video on youtube, in a desperate hope that this will help him get a grip on it.

The drums are loud and seem out of tune. He sighs, not even his drum machine app is in tune with the music! He starts from the beginning again, louder this time, the speakers at max, yelling the text into the room.

Then he realizes that the out-of-tune drums are not really drums, but something thundering on the door. Fuck. It slowly occurs to him that he may have disturbed the neighbours. He quickly turns down the music, and the silence is almost deafening. He holds his breath and sits still, hoping that whoever is knocking his door will disappear now when he is quiet again.

  
“KNOCK KNOCK.” 

Fuck. Someone is still outside. Isak slowly gets up, wondering who it is. He doesn’t really know any of the neighbours. He has said hello to some of them, the nice old lady on the ground floor, Mrs Olsen, he often meets her in the laundry basement. The nice couple upstairs, diagonally from him, he doesn’t think they hear him since he is playing from the room furthest away from them. The student next to him, perhaps, she is probably more bothered by the noise. 

He suddenly feels bad for her, she is studying logopedy and her department at university seems to be a mess, with almost no digital classes and chaos about if and how they are doing exams. He has been chatting with her when they have been outside on their balconies. But she has never complained about the music before. He doesn’t really know the other here. Well, it’s the kids downstairs, of course, and their father, but they are loud themselves and he doesn’t really imagine them complaining about him.

Isak stumbles towards the door. As he unlocks it and grabs to handle to open it, he remembers he is undressed. He forgot to leave the door to his guest room where he keeps the guitar open, so the sun heated it and it was like a sauna when he came to practice today. To make it fast he just took off his jeans and hoodie. For a brief moment he thinks about whether his boxers are whole and clean and whether he changed them this morning and if he showered, or if they are from yesterday or whenever he showered. For an even briefer moment he thinks about not opening the door, but his muscle memory is already pulling the door open.

It's the man from the noisy flat downstairs, of course it is. He is tall and pale with blushing cheeks and his hair is messier than his own untidy hair. He looks like he’s about to break down, any moment now. Full of anger and frustration and sweat and his shirt looks like it’s wet on one side. 

For a minute they just stare at each other. His eyes are blue, like the sky on the spring day outside, it occurs to him. 

Isak straightens up. "Yeah?" he says, trying to talk loud and steady. Taking back what he certainly lacks in dignity by his voice at least.

The other man continues to stare at him. Isak feels like he is looking up and down at him. "See anything you like there?" he asks, franker than he'd normally do. The blue eyes moves from staring at the middle of his body to looking at his eyes. "Ehhr…." 

Isak continues to look at him, silently chuckling inside. He mock-rolls his eyes at him and pretends to be closing the door.

"No, eh, wait." There is a hint of despair in the blue eyes. "Look, we're trying to work downstairs. I have to do my job and my kids are in school, Freya is in year 1 and Thor in year 6, and it's important that they get to study without disturbance. So could you please not play the guitar. Or sing. Or use that drum-thing-machine. Not when we are working and studying. Maybe we could agree upon a time, I could take the kids outside and you could play..." It sounds like he is babbling. 

Isak raises an eyebrow. "Are you accusing me of being noisy?" He pauses, but doesn't wait for an answer. "You are the loudest family I have had the misfortune to have to live above. I have never had such a disruptive neighbour. Ever. It’s constant screaming and shouting downstairs, I have no idea what the constant popping noises against the ceiling are, then you have the TV on all day, every day, and I’m sure you have a motorbike or something in the room below my kitchen. I mean?"

Then he takes a step back and shuts the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the heartwarming reception and comments! 
> 
> Here was Isak, what do you think? Will this baking counsultant win Even's hearts and kids, or have S&P gone completely havoc and written a real triangle drama where Sonja ends up with the prince?
> 
> Pagni is having her last homeschooling day EVER (hopefully...) and will probably have PLENTY of time for writing now. Sophia, not so much.


	3. EVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living in an apartment block is never easy, especially when your neighbours seem to lack the basic understanding of being...neighbourly.

The man is rude, that’s clear. No, no no no. Not rude. Psychotic. On drugs? Perhaps just mentally unwell? Even just stands there, in some kind of shock. Because his brain is trying to backtrack to what just happened. Clearly _The Neighbour_ , now safely behind his closed front door, was causing the building to shake like bombs were raining down on them, and not the kind of bombs his kids cause. Surely the damn neighbour is in the wrong? Even is being perfectly reasonable, and if he remembers rightly he was calm and composed when he addressed his upstairs neighbour. He’s sure he was. Or wasn’t he?

He sneaks back downstairs, closing the door carefully behind him, only to be faced with a brand new bombsite of Lego as Freya tips another Ikea crate of Lego out on the floor. 

“I’ve lost the Darth Vader helmet!” she shrieks. 

“Can you please not make all that noise!” He almost shouts back, before reining himself in. Quiet. Noisy neighbours. Apparently the insulation in the ceiling is not as good as he thought. Well, what was he expecting? They can hear every step the neighbour above takes. Every time the bloke closes his kitchen cupboards. He’s pretty sure he can hear the guy breathe up there, and obviously, and Even blushes a little bit at the thought, the guy upstairs can probably follow the conversations Even has with his children, word for word. Which is probably the dullest eavesdropping situation ever, because their conversations range from the dullest of the dull to the most ridiculous. That's the God honest truth.

“Dad? Did the guy apologize? His name is Isak Valtersen, I checked on Gule sider. He’s 35, so younger than you. His birthday is…”

“Thor, stop it. The guy is insanely rude and entitled, and we will have nothing further to do with him.”

“Dad, did he shout at you? I bet he did, you were all angry and worked up, and I bet he got all defensive. Did he say he was brilliant at playing the guitar and we should appreciate his musical talent?”

“Why do you always talk like a grown up, Thor? Thor? Stop laughing at me. I was very polite and told him to turn the amp down and respect his neighbours. “

“You didn’t say that, Freya and me were listening downstairs, and you were just shouting at each other and then he slammed the door in your face.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up. Biscuits.”

“Thor.”

“Daddy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I want to call you Even, like an adult, but you won’t let me.”

“I’m Dad. That will do nicely, please don’t take away the last piece of dignity I have, I’m your dad, and you will call me just that. Dad. Anyway, that’s your mother facetiming on your mobile, can you pick it up? She’ll be tired, please don’t keep her waiting.”

He recognizes the ringtone on Thor’s phone, Sonja programmed the same ringtone for everyone, so they all know to answer when the boss calls. Because Sonja is the boss, and boy, they all know it. 

He smiles as Thor picks up the call, and goes all soft and childish as he excitedly chatters to his mum. They love her, he still loves her, wholeheartedly. She is the glue that keep them together, the light in all their lives. He just doesn’t love her like she deserves to be loved, and anyway, he’s been far too confused about the direction his life has taken in the last couple of years to direct his affections towards anyone else. 

He hasn’t had sex, for years. Which is a worry, because he is quite seriously starting to wonder if there is anyone out there, anyone left for him. Tinder is full of the people left on the shelf, wrecks of human beings who are too broken themselves to put up with someone like Even. He’s got baggage, and confusion, and a head full of mess, not to mention the ex-wife who he adores, the kids who are slowly but surely killing him, and the job, which is all respectable and has earned him awards. He’s got a whole stack of framed things with his name on it, and weird looking trophies stacked under his desk in his office, and little plaques and statuettes and stuff… just not the kind of awards that you can display in your home without your children asking some very awkward questions. 

Sonja used to laugh at them, and display choice ones on the kitchen counter for a laugh, but it’s been years since she even came into his little office, and… yeah. Thor would never let him live that one down. He edits films. That’s the end of his description of what he does for a living, and if people ask more questions? Well, they could google his name and find that nothing more exciting than a few links to his company and that leads straight into one black dead end. Exactly the way he likes it. 

It’s almost midnight before he crawls into bed, with Sonja on the screen in front of him. She’s at home, in bed too, wiping her face with a wipe, trying to soothe the marks on her skin from having worn a face mask all day. 

“You ok?” he says softly, hoping not to wake Freya who is sprawled out on top of the covers, wearing nothing but a pair of underpants. Thor is on the mattress on the floor, his head under the covers, and the light from the nintendo lighting up the room like a very bright moon. He’s wearing headphones, so Even feels quite safe talking openly to Sonja like this.

“I can’t get warm,” she says quietly. “I feel really cold. I talked to Jens about it and he thinks I should stay home tomorrow. My temperature isn’t that high, but I have had a headache all week, I could feel it coming on. It’s coming. I know it is.”

“It could just be a cold,” Even tries, knowing full well that Sonja is unwell. She’s not only exhausted, her breath is too loud for his liking, and she looks pale. Tired. Feverish and stressed.

“I’ve been on the frontline of this for weeks, Even. You know as well as I do, that it was only a matter of time until this got to me. I’ll pull through, you know I will, but I will need you to keep the kids in check. Please don’t let them worry about me.”

She coughs, a dry hacking cough that makes his blood run cold. 

“Honey, please come here, and stay with us so we can look after you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You would get it, the kids could get it.”

“We are family, you know that. I could make up Freya’s bed for you, and you would have the toilet to yourself. We would stay in my bedroom and only use the big bathroom. We wouldn’t be anywhere near you, and you could at least get fed and watered and we could keep you sane. Please. Please come over, now, before you get even worse.”

“No...” She coughs again, and Even wants to cry. She works so damn hard, and she doesn’t deserve this. The kids don’t deserve this. They don’t deserve having a mum who gets unwell, and they don’t deserve to have to worry about her. 

“I’m going to go to sleep.” She whispers. “Can I ring you if I need anything?”

“Of course.” He whispers. “I’ll keep my phone on. You know I always do anyway.”

“You never remember to reply to my messages, and you rarely remember to charge the damn thing.”

He holds up the charging lead, dangling it between his fingers, which makes her smile before the screen goes blank. 

He falls asleep, with Freya’s foot in his face. He wakes up when Thor climbs in, pulling at the covers just after midnight. He still sleeps. Restless, but he sleeps.

...

He would have slept longer, if it wasn’t for the banging on the front door, just before nine. He knows it’s almost nine, as the Alexa is rumbling away out in the kitchen, playing the local radio station. It goes on at 8.45, and the low sound of music and chatter usually wakes him up. It hasn’t today instead the banging on the door starts up again, this time accompanied by a sharp “Hello?” 

It’s not a voice that he recognizes, so he jumps out of bed, not even bothering to keep his movements slow and careful, probably waking both kids up as he drags his limbs out from under the duvet, trying to get the dressing gown on the floor over his arms, twisting the whole garment into a mess as he goes. Fuck it. Whatever. He’s got one arm in, and the belt is in his hand as he pushes the front door open with his hip.

“Hey…” the guy outside says. Well, he’s not technically outside. He’s in the stairwell, outside Even’s front door. And he is...kind of wet. 

“What?” he blurts out, still struggling with his dressing gown. 

“Eehhr,” The guy says, scratching his chin. He’s got a bit of a stubble going on. A half hearted attempt at a moustache. More scruff than he had yesterday, from what he remembers, because this is definitely the guy from upstairs. A grumpier, wetter version of him, standing in front of a half-dressed Even who is now desperately knotted up in his dressing gown. Well, it’s tied around his stomach and he has one arm in and his boxer shorts are showing but whatever. He’s hardly trying to impress anyone here.

“It’s morning, I was asleep, my kids are asleep, have you got no fucking sense?” he hisses out between his teeth. Because. Yeah. Even. No sense either. 

“I’m so so sorry,” the guy says, “Sorry about the noise, sorry about yesterday, sorry about being here but… do you know anything about… plumbing? My dishwasher is kind of flooding my kitchen up there, and the janitor is off today, and I can’t find the bloody stop-cock to switch the water off. I’m kind of the non-technical type, and I’m really good with computers but kind of shite at most other things, but I have a feeling it will shortly start to rain somewhere in your apartment, I’m not sure your kitchen is under mine but it’s a lot of….”

Even doesn’t let the guy finish, before sprinting up the stairs and throwing himself into the apartment above. It’s clean. Tidy. Not the pigsty he was kind of visualizing with a guy like the bloke he just left standing downstairs where his own kitchen is probably being rained on with water drizzling through the light fitting… but here he is, standing in a fast flowing river of water… in the hallway, and yes, the guy’s dishwasher is open and there is kind of water… everywhere.

“You fucking plonker,” he hisses under his breath. 

“I know,” the guy sighs, making Even jump, as he hadn’t even realized the guy had followed him. Well, he should have, since the guy is now stomping around in the water, in wet sloppy socks and Even just shakes his head as he closes up the dishwasher lid, locking it with a well aimed fist.

“You left the door open?” he shouts. Fuck this.

“To your flat? Yes.”

“You left your fucking dishwasher door open, and it flooded your bloody flat!!” Even screams. 

This guy. He’s an idiot. Of the worst kind.

“It’s still flooding.” The guy sounds kind of embarrassed. And oh. Ah..

There is still water flooding out from underneath the dishwasher, and Even wastes no time falling to his knees and diving head first into the cupboard under the sink.

“There!” He hisses, as the stop-cock slowly turns in his grip. “Fucking wanker.”

“I know,” the guy says. “I know I’m a fucking idiot. I should know where the stop-cock is and it’s my flat and my mistake, and I promise I will pay for any damage to your ceiling…”

“You are just one disaster after another,” Even sighs. “I haven’t even had a coffee, and I am still in my boxers. And no bloody jokes about me being on my knees for you.”

It’s a bad joke but this morning hasn’t been anything but a darned joke so far. 

“You had my cock in your hand already, so I am not surprised you are on your knees for me.” The guy says. Then he smirks. And blushes. 

“What?” Even says, feeling all deflated. 

“My stop-cock.” The guy giggles. And smiles. Like a bloody child, but it’s catching, because Even just sinks down on his knees again, his legs wet and there’s water everywhere and his dressing gown is soaked anyway, and he has left the door to his home wide open and his kids are asleep down there.

“Sorry.” The guy is still trying to rein in the giggles. “It’s kind of funny. You are kind of half naked on my kitchen floor and you had my cock and you are now on your knees and I don’t even know your name.”

There he goes again, exploding into giggles, and Even has to admit. It’s kind of funny. A little bit. 

“I don’t put out on the first date,” Even’s mouth says. “And anyway, your cock wasn’t very impressive, as first of all, you didn’t even know where it was, and if you don’t know your way around your own cock, how on earth would I trust you with mine? That is, if you do like a bit of cock?” He’s trying to keep a straight face, but it’s hard with this idiot laughing in front of him. The guy, Isak? Was that his name? Anyway, his socks are wet. His joggers are soaking, and there’s a damp t-shirt plastered over his chest. 

“Stop it,” the guy says, clutching his stomach, obviously with held back laughter. “I know my way around cock fine, thank you very much. Not that you will get to benefit from my cock skills, because you hate me. And I don’t blame you.”

“I never said I hated you,” Even sighs. Idiot. Last thing he needs this morning. He gets to his feet and sighs heavily at the state of him. Barefoot and wet, with his dressing gown all twisted into a mess. 

“What have you done with that dressing gown?” The guy giggles. He’s obviously drunk too.

“Never you mind,” Even hisses. 

“I’m not usually this stupid,” the guy tries, “I’m just embarrassed, and I’m sorry, please go check your kitchen and I will pay for any damage.”

“Have you got a mop?” Even sighs. He’s doing a lot of sighing today. 

“Yeah, but here… hang on.” 

He disappears out, only to return with a clean dressing gown, in one hand, and he starts tugging at Even’s belt, ripping the wet robe off his back, leaving Even kind of naked. In his kitchen. 

“Now that you have me naked, what are you going to do with me?” Even laughs. Because, yeah. It’s ridiculous, and the guy blushes like a school boy. All red and sweat beads forming on his forehead and he can barely look him in the eye, which is kind of the thing that eggs Even on. Because he’s a bit of a twat when challenged, and this guy is pushing all of Even’s bastard-buttons. 

“Well, I’m waiting for you to rip my clothes off… or… I can play you some guitar? No? No, whatever. Sorry. That was inappropriate.”

The guy looks mortified, standing there holding a robe towards Even, who gratefully accepts it, managing to get both arms in and the belt tied around his stomach. It fits. It’s clean. It’s something.

“I’ll wash this and return it.” 

“You don’t have to. It’s just water, it will dry?” Even tries, but the guy shakes his head.

“Isak,” he says, holding his hand out. “Certified idiot, not good with plumbing, doesn’t know his way around a stop cock, and crap neighbour. Hi. Nice to meet you.”

“Even,” Even says back, reaching out to shake his hand. And he smiles. Because, yeah. The guy is a plonker, but he’s trying here. 

“I’m really sorry, sorry about yesterday. Sorry about this. Sorry.”

“You only flooded your kitchen to give yourself a reason to get me naked in your kitchen.” Even laughs. 

“No, honest. Fuck no. I tried to plumb the damn thing in myself, and it keeps showing this error message, and then I gave it a good kick this morning, and made some coffee, and then I went to take a piss, and all hell broke loose.”

“Twat,” Even says. 

“I know.” Isak replies. Then he winks. Smiles.

“I like cock by the way. In case you were wondering. Hope that’s not a problem.”

“Problem with what?” Even smiles. 

He’s an idiot. The guy’s an idiot. This, though? This is sheer lunacy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another little update. Hope you are all keeping sane, safe and well. Big hug. S and P (one could probably start arguing about our sanity soon)


	4. ISAK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's focus on coffee today, should we? Not on the neighbour. By no means in his perfect body. Coffee. And a few other things.

Isak’s eyes glance around the room. He wants to get rid of that Even person. Needs to get rid of him, yet, weirdly, he wants him to stay. 

“Do you want coffee?”

Apparently his mouth decided before his brain could put a stop to that one.

Obviously he can’t trust his mouth anyway. He should do something to stop it. Fill it with something. Even’s cock. A stop-cock. He almost bursts out in laughter again. Isak is strangely behaving like a child. All that stupidness that he let out earlier? Reckless childishness, and well. It was a weird situation. Made weirder by Isak’s total inability to behave like a normal human being, instead blurting out insane juvenile sexual innuendo like a repressed teenager.

They sit down by the bar counter, one at each end if it, the proper distance between them is already automated, Isak thinks. The floor is still sopping wet, but the floor tiles shouldn’t leak, he thinks. They should be sealed. Hopefully. They have mopped up the worst, the basket by the door is full of dirty rags and towels, he has to do laundry afterwards, and he needs to move the wet rags to a bag or something, the basket will start to leak. And he has to get a service person in here to fix the dishwasher.

“What kind of coffee do you want?” he asks.

“So you’re a coffee snob, huh? Plain black, is that possible?” He winks, this Even. Dimples forming in his cheeks, and there is that twinkle at the corner of his eye.

Isak laughs. “Do I need to fire up the drip maker for you? Or will an Americano do?”

Even seems to be about to open his mouth, but Isak abrupts him. “Just kidding, I have an aeropress.” 

Of course he does. Coffee is the liquid of life, his aqua vita, and he likes to think he has his props in order. French press, aeropress, moka pot, siphon, chemex, canadiano, minipresso, ibrik, they all fill up a cupboard with a top-notch Jura on the counter, a drip maker in the back of the cupboard for when his mum visits and wants the regular coffee, but he is considering trying to convince her to try the aeropress instead. Everything but a capsule machine, which he deems the evil of the world.

Isak kind of watches Even, out of the corner of his eye, a grown up man drinking coffee from the red Moomin mug with angry Little My. He deliberately chose that mug from the shelf, it reminded him of the angry man in front of him, even if he has calmed down now. Even drinks in a hurry, starts sipping small drops once the steaming hot mug is placed in front of him, visibly relaxing as the first drops hit his throat, even if the caffeine hasn’t hit his blood stream yet. A purely mental reaction, he knows, like the drop in blood sugar for a non-diabetic only by watching chocolate. Then he drinks in larger sips, calm breaths after each sip, his eyes closed for a moment as he seems to enjoy it especially much. 

Isaks drinks from his own cup. A triple espresso with chili and a tiny splash of water. “Hot asphalt”, as Sana calls it while sipping her own herbal tea. 

Suddenly he hears a low knock on the door. “Hello!” It’s a child’s voice. “Hello? Oh, you are friends now”, he says dryly, standing at the entrance to the kitchen looking at them.

Even rushes up and almost spills his coffee. “Thor! I am so sorry! Isak’s dishwasher started to leak and I just wanted to help him! Are you ok? I am really sorry I just left you.” He looks almost desperate, Isak thinks. He can’t remember an adult panicking that much about him, not even Jonas’ parents when Jonas and he disappeared for hours in the forest without really telling anyone.

“Chill, dad. We’re ok. But Freya is hungry and doesn’t want that crappy cereal you bought, or crackers and we’re out of bread, you forgot to buy bread yesterday and that’s ok because you promised you would bake but I don’t see or smell any bread so I think you forgot.” 

“Biscuits.” Even bites his lip while pulling his hair. Isak isn’t sure he has showered today. The hair is tousled and slightly greasy.

At the same time Isak’s mobile alarm goes off. He swipes it off and turns toward the oven. “I have fresh bread coming out of the oven in a second. You folks wanna have breakfast here?” 

He can almost feel the boy’s eyes on him when he opens the oven and takes out a perfect round bread. He made the dough yesterday, a no-knead dough, perfect for busy days, and put it in the oven before he jumped into the shower today. Mindlessly he snaps a picture of it on the counter, the cloudy morning light coming in from behind, a clean towel clumsily wrapped around it, covering an uneven edge. He doesn’t like to use filters, but maybe he can alter the colors a bit on this one, make it look warmer, more spicy.

“Dad, can we?” 

“Thor, where is Freya?” Suddenly Even rushes up. A slight touch of panic in his voice. 

“She is downstairs. In our flat. Watching Netflix.”

“We should go home, Thor. Remember social distancing, we’re not even supposed to be here.” Isak involuntarily takes a step back from Even.

“Dad, please. The bread… it looks so darned good. Much better than the one from the store. And it’s fresh, Dad.”

Even looks at the counter again. He sighs, almost like he is fighting with himself on the inside. The bread does look good, and Isak can almost see Even salivating at the thought. It’s good bread. Especially hot out of the oven with generous lashings of butter. 

“Ok then. “ Even sighs, having lost the fight with his son, who raises his fist in the air, cheering. “But I need to get Freya. Wash your hands first.” He turns towards Isak. “Eh, can he use your bathroom? And do you have like clean towels? Or paper towels? Because, you know…” He shakes his hands.

Isak smiles with a shrug. “Of course I do, no worries.” This Even guy seems a bit hysterical about hygiene, but if a clean towel or three is what it takes to share his bread with them for breakfast, he’ll make it happen.

He walks into the bathroom and finds a bundle of guest towels. They might as well have one each, it’s not like he has other guests now. He dries the sink with his used towel and hangs a new one there for good measure, in addition to the pile he puts on the edge of it. “You can wash up now”, he nods to the boy who followed him into the bathroom. 

Isak lays up the bar counter. It’s big enough for two, and even for four, he does have six bar stools around it, but there is no way he can have a metre between them, or is it two now? He frankly doesn’t remember what is official advice and what is just rumors. But Even and the kids can probably sit closer, since they are family, so if he sits at one end and the other three at the other end, it may be ok. But then it will be awkward if he has to get up during the meal, to get more coffee or something.

With a sigh he realizes that they have probably been too close already, at least he and the boy, since he followed him into the bathroom. He still hears the water running out there. Shit, hopefully the kid hasn’t gotten the sink stuck or something. A second later the water is turned off and he can hear the kid thumping through the hallway.

He is about to set the dining table when Thor enters the living room again. The table is big enough for all of them, and wider so it’s easier to maintain distance. He’ll sit at the end, and Even and the kids towards the other end, and if they need something in the kitchen Isak will go, and won’t have to pass any of the others too close.

“Cool computer. Do you play?” Thor is standing at the entrance to his office, and Isak panics for a moment, hoping he didn’t leave any documents out that he shouldn’t.

“No, it’s for work.”

“Pretty nice work station then. I bet it’s nice and fast for Half-Life. You don’t play that either?”

“Not anymore, but I did when I was younger. I use it for programming. I do graphics programming and need somewhere to test the software before it gets efficient enough to roll out to people’s equipment. Do you know what programming is?” 

“Of course I do”, Thor says. “We’ve learned that in school, I went to a coding club before. What do you program?”

“Imaging software. Like x-ray stuff for hospitals.”

“Ah, cool. My mum works in Ahus. She is a doctor. I hope she won’t get sick”, he says, the latter phrase with a sad crack to it.

“Yeah, me too.” Isak nods. A mum, of course. He is about to ask the boy more about here when Even and the girl comes inside.

“Hi, I am Freya!” She is as eager as they get, reminding him of Lisa. The thought stings, he really misses her. It’s been two weeks since she was last here, her parents are at home now, so they can look after her themselves. “We can’t greet properly because of the corona virus, but we can bow!” She bows at him. “Or greet with our toes, we did that in school, but some made it into a football tackle and then the point was kind of lost since we shouldn’t get too close, you know.” She looks around. “I need to wash my hands. I must always do that when I enter somewhere.”

Isak raises his eyebrows and smirks at Even. “It’s just to the left. I put clean towels for you on the sink. Just put them in the laundry basket when you're done.”

The breakfast is nice, and Isak silently thanks his mum for teaching him stuff that he, at the time, thought was bullshit. He has folded napkins, and proper wooden butter knives, and his cheese slicer is some stainless steel monstrosity that actually creates perfect thin slivers of the cheese he keeps in a proper cheese dome. It all looks, he dares to almost think it. Homely. He has plenty of cheese and jam and ham, and they finish all the bread, alongside an easy flowing conversation. The kids talk about baking, and Even asks for the recipe, and Isak says he can just google it, it’s the common no-knead bread Even has probably heard about already. But Even is unbelievably cute when his confusion shows and he says he doesn’t bake because he can’t stand the kneading. “Well, that’s the entire point of this bread. No kneading.”

“How can you make bread with no kneading?” he asks, shaking his head so his fringe falls into his eyes. Then he tries to fix his floppy mane with his hands, only making it look even worse than it did to start with. Strands of hair sticking up everywhere. Yeah. Cute. Isak has to stop and shudder. He shouldn’t even be thinking that thought. And by the time he tries to think of something to say back, the conversation has moved on to something else.

He follows them to the door, and looks down at his hands as they leave. He would normally have shaken Even’s hand, but he doesn’t. It’s not the done thing right now, neither is a hug. He would have hugged Jonas, as a friend. Even? He’s not a friend. Is he? Well, he might as well wash them, he thinks, closing the door and cleaning his hands. Grabbing the towels and throwing them all in the laundry basket for later. Afterwards he cleans the table, but not before snapping a picture of the crumbs on the empty cutting board. He posts it to his insta afterwards, a before and after picture.

***

Darn. He walks into the kitchen next morning. He forgot the laundry basket. It has wet stains along the base now, and water has dripped on the floor. The dirty dishes from yesterday are still by the sink, both the breakfast dishes and the plates he used for leftovers from the fridge for lunch and pizza for dinner. The dishwasher service person couldn’t come until in two days and only if everyone in the household was healthy. “It’s only me here, and I am 100% well,” Isak assures, trying not to be annoyed by the nosy nagging. 

But he worked late yesterday, he got into the zone and just kept working and working, and suddenly it was midnight and too late to do dishes or anything. He forgot to play the guitar, too, he bets the neighbours were just happy. At least none of them would come complaining today. Even if that could be ok, he silently thinks. How pathetic has he become, that he would cause a disturbance, just to attract some human contact?

Luckily he has already booked a laundry slot today, for his lunch break. It’s in a couple of hours, so he can work a bit first. 

He is far from the zone today, and can hardly concentrate as he mindlessly flips through his open windows and projects. His mind keeps moving to other things than work, to blue eyes and tousled hair and a stressed man in his kitchen with his coffee mug, the Moomin mug, easily his favourite mug. At least from now on.

He sighs and packs his laundry instead. It’ll be towels today, the sad sopping wet ones from the dishwasher disaster, the guest towels, maybe he can change his bed linen, too, and add it to the pile. The washing machines are huge, it should work out fine. 

He reaches for the detergent in the bathroom, only to find the shelf is empty. No soap bottle, only an empty cardboard box, and his favourite cinnamon scented fabric conditioner. But conditioner won’t clean the clothes, he already knows that. He sighs heavily. He really needs to do laundry now, he is going short on towels after using all those on the floor. He wonders if he can borrow detergent from someone? After all, it would be a neighbourly thing to do? Right?

Ten minutes later he is back in his bathroom. He has been around to the neighbours upstairs, but none of them are at home. The weather is nice so they’ve probably gone for a walk. He doesn’t want to ask the old lady on the ground floor, she will certainly say yes, but she seems to frail and he would never forgive himself if she got sick. That leaves Even. Who will probably let him borrow some detergent, but he doesn’t want to ask him for help one more time. He is too self conscious for that, this is not urgent, he can as well go out and buy some more detergent himself.

Yet he still finds himself ringing the door below himself. He rings and waits. Maybe they are outside for a walk. Maybe he should do that himself, use the nice weather to get some light and air.

The door opens. “Yes? Oh hello, Isak!” Even blushes as he sees him. Actually blushes. And smiles. A broad smile that almost closes his eyes, which of course makes Isak stutter like a fool. 

“Uhm hello. Look, I was wondering if I could borrow some detergent from you? I have booked a laundry slot for lunch, but then I found out I was out of soap, and everybody else is apparently out now.”

“Fuck,” he says, Even says. “I mean, biscuits!” It’s louder, and shouted towards the inner parts of the flat. “Sorry about that. But I have completely forgotten the laundry and the laundry slots. Why can’t we just have washing machines in the flats like proper modern buildings have?”

“Because we don’t have any rooms with a sluice to put them in,” Isak says politely. “You know, a floor drain, to fit the hose.” He agrees, a washing machine upstairs would be beneficial, but the laws forbid it since they lack the plumbing.

“I know! Argh, Freya is out of underpants, I need to go shopping today so she can get some new ones, luckily the supermarket sells them. I just hope nobody hoarded them with the toilet paper.”

“Maybe someone needs them for a makeshift face mask?” Isak jokes.

“Don’t joke about it. I have seen pictures.” Even rolls his eyes. “Darn, I’ll go shopping then.”

“Ok, fine. But do you think I could borrow some detergent?”

“Sure, sure. Wait a second.”

Isak hears Even stomping through the flat, probably looking for the detergent. He briefly wonders where Even stores it, as it’s obviously not in the bathroom. He hears low voices from the inner parts of the apartement. 

_“I have no underwear!”_

_“We’ll fix it!”_

_“Look at the stains on my jeans! And Freya has clogged the toilet again. Can’t you teach her to flush?”_

_“Freya, don’t use all the toilet paper! We really should have hoarded paper….”_

Finally Even returns with a box of cheap detergent in his hand, a whiff of perfume already hitting Isak’s nose. “I hope this will do.” He rolls his eyes again. “I’ll remember to book a slot as soon as I can.”

Isak ponders for a while. He rolls from toe to heel and bites his lower lip. He can hear Freya’s whining from inside the flat, he can’t make out the words, but the frustrated tone is easy to interpret. He remembers his own frustration when his mother forgot to do laundry when he was a kid.

“Ehr, I guess you can take my slot. I can book another one and do it later. It was only towels and sheets, and I have more of those.” He feels himself blush now. Stuttering, as he rolls on his heels. Hands in his pockets. Breathing out through his mouth, trying to compose himself.

Even shakes his head. “No. No. We’ll manage until the next slot comes up. No problem.”

 _“Dad! I peed my pants! What should I wear now?”_ Freya wails from the living room.

Even’s face drops. “Ok. Maybe I should take you up on that offer.”

***

Isak went outside to chill in the small green spot in front of the building after dinner, and talked to Mrs Olsen, the nice old lady, from a proper distance, of course. She offered him her laundry spot, since she wouldn’t use it anyway. She usually books a few slots a week just in case, she says, but only uses one or two.

“So it’s due to people like you that the laundry room is always full,” he mutters.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you?” She looks at him with a confused smile.

“Nothing. Lovely weather today, isn’t it?”

So now he needs to pick up his laundry card from Even as well, since Even couldn’t find the card for his own flat earlier, when Isak was there and Even had asked if he could borrow Isak’s. Even had looked nervously around the hallway, scanned the area behind himself, tipped out a few drawers and from what Isak could see from his peek-spot in the stairs there was no wonder a laundry card could get lost in the mess of clothes and shoes and bike helmets and skateboards and hockey sticks there. He got all sweaty just by looking at it from a safe distance.

He rings the doorbell and listens for noise inside. It sounds calmer than in the morning. Maybe they are relaxing. He hears rustling sounds from the inside, like someone is scratching on the door, before the lock clicks and the door opens.

“Yeah?” Even opens the door. His face softens and he smiles when he sees Isak. “Oh, it’s you! Hello!”

He looks slightly more stressed than in the morning, though. His hair is flat, like he has been wearing a beanie all day. His sweatpants have knees and there is a big orange spot on his t-shirt, and a hole in his socks, and why does Isak actually observe him well enough to make coherent thoughts about his messiness?

“Uhm, yeah, hi!” He startles. “I was just gonna pick up my laundry card. I managed to get a slot tonight.”

Even raises his eyebrows. “Wow, who did you have to bribe?”

Isak laughs. “Mrs Olsen downstairs. Turns out she books extra slots, so she had some available.”

Even’s face breaks into a smile that could compete with the sun even in this grim stairway. “She’s one of them!”

“Apparently.” Isak sighs. “At least I got into her slot today, so I can’t complain too loud.” He giggles. There we go again. Teenaged idiot Isak is back. “Not that Mrs Olsen does anything for me. You know.”

“What?”

“I got… you know. Forget it. I was trying to make a lame joke. Didn’t work.”

“Why? About Mrs Olsen?”

“Ehhr...I got her spare laundry...time.” Isak stutters. “And she’s a little forgetful at times, and forgets her slots anyway.”

“Yeah, that’s good.” Even looks confused, then laughs, staring almost expectantly at Isak, like he expects more stupid stuff to come rolling out of his mouth. It doesn’t. Luckily. Because Isak is an adult. 

“Eh… so… Oh, your card! Sure! Wait a second!” He turns around and walks into the flat. “Thor, do you know where I put the laundry stuff? Isak’s laundry card?”

Isak hears mumbling from inside, before Even returns with the card. He has the box of detergent in his other hand. “You still need detergent?” Isaks smiles and shakes his head. “No, I snuck out to the supermarket after I talked to Mrs Olsen. I got beer and flour and coffee as well, so just tell me if you need anything!”

Even smiles, he looks tired. “Thanks. Will do.” He looks into the flat.

“How are things going here?”

Even shrugs. “Fine. Or as fine as one can be in this jail.”

“Jail? You don’t like it?”

“It’s horrible. I need space, air, silence, people, all of it. Now I don’t get any of it.”

“But you have the kids, then?”

“Yeah, but…” Even smiles half-heartedly. “They are kids, you know.”

Isak nods. He remembers how Lisa constantly alters his plans, especially when Jonas has asked him to look after her on short notice, when he has been on call, or standby and suddenly ended up on a leg to London, instead of at the Christmas concert of Year 2. Then she completely rearranges his snack cupboard, reprograms his remote control, and logs him out of his own Netflix account only to then refuse to eat the food he has prepared. Not that Isak minds, really. He likes a sneaky takeaway Pizza just as much as Lisa does.

“I like being alone, then, so this quarantine shite isn’t that bad. Just feels a bit forced, you know.”

Even rolls his eyes. “Easy for you to say. You have a three bedroom flat to yourself.”

“Uhm, yeah.” It’s quiet for a moment. “So… what do you do nowadays? Calm days?”

Even looks at him as if he has just asked if Trump should be nominated for the Nobel Peace prize. Or something equally stupid. “I run a home school. And a home office. And a cafeteria. And a laundromat, apparently.” He smiles. “What about you?”

Isak shrugs. “I normally work a lot from home, so this is almost normal.”

“You usually play guitar, too?” 

Even winks at Isak and he feels his face go warm. “Well, uhm, that’s perhaps not so normal.”

“Puh. You scared me there,” Even laughs. “And you bake a lot? I saw your pictures on instagram…”

“So you found me there?”

“Nice bread you posted yesterday. It was the one we ate, wasn’t it?”

“It was.”

“Nice caption. _Good bread. Even better company_. You really think so?” Even smiles and winks.

Isak giggles and hides his face in his hand. This is embarrassing. He never thought about Even finding his Instagram profile. Even the thought of that makes Isak shiver. It’s a bit too close. Too personal. Not that anything on there is more than an illusion of perfection, and Isak is not perfect. Not at all. 

Then Even’s phone rings. He looks at the display and excuses himself before answering. He remains in the hall and since he has still gotten Isak’s laundry card between his index and middle finger, Isak just waits for him to finish. He hates listening to other people’s phone calls, but now he has no choice, unless he leaves and comes back later. 

“Hi, Sonja. How are you?” His voice is soft and mushy.

“What? Oh, Sonja… just relax, calm down, I am waiting.” He makes a face and holds the phone away from his ear. Isak can hear the hacking cough noise.

“Have you talked to your doctor? Ok? What did she say?” He looks grave. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come over? I am sure I can…” He looks up and his distressed eyes meet Isak’s. He blinks and bites his lip, and looks away again, into the living room area, Isak thinks.

“Ok ok, so this is what we’re gonna do… No, listen to me now!” The coughing is there again. Isak tries to signal to Even that he just wants his card and then he will leave.

“You grab your bag. I know you already have it packed, you had it packed for 5 months before your due date when you were pregnant too. And then you take a cab here, and stay with us until you are better. No, don’t protest. Just do it. You take Freya’s room, she can sleep in my bed anyway.”

Even shakes his head. “No, Sonja, that’s ok. It won’t bother us. We will stay in quarantine, you stay in isolation, it’s gonna be ok. We will get someone to shop for us, we have neighbours, you know. It’s gonna be ok. Ok, see you. Call me when you leave. Love you.”

He is pale when he looks at Isak again, as if he hasn’t realized he is here.

“My card?” Isak asks carefully. The man on the other side of the door step looks like he could need a hug, someone to hold him, to tell him everything is going to be fine.

Even shrugs confused. “Card?” He looks down at his hand. “Yes, card. Here you are.” His voice sounds almost mechanical, and his fingers are ice cold as they briefly stroke across Isak’s fingertips when the laundry card is transferred.

Isak’s eyes meet Even’s for a moment. They are wet and dark and scared. Then the door closes before Isak. He stands there for a moment before going upstairs to his own flat.

*******

The whirring sounds from the coffee machine almost drown his loud thoughts. The conversation he wasn’t supposed to hear, the intimate words and tone, he has kind of replayed it in his head for several days now. He had hoped this might be flirting, that this was something he could play along with, a play that had felt a few pegs more serious in his head when he realized he was really attracted to Even.

But he is married to a woman, the mother of his children, his love. She is probably staying at the hospital at the moment, doctors probably do that now, or maybe she’s in practice somewhere else. Isak doesn’t know how old she is, but Sana had hospital practice last year, and she took a break when she had babies. Even probably takes care of the kids alone now. He shouldn’t make it tougher for him, Isak thinks. It must be tough enough having a loved one so close to the risk zone. He would probably not stand it himself if it was someone he loved. But he doesn’t have any one he loves so much, so…

The smell of coffee hits his nose. It’s homely and well known, like an anchor in a world that seems to be shattering to pieces any moment. The grinding sounds kind of ground him, the familiar noise from the machine, second by second, his mind knows when to reach for the fresh cup of coffee.

Being deprived of this is one of his worst nightmares. He can absolutely survive on other kinds of coffee, he may be a snob, but he can definitely drink simpler coffee, even several hours old stale coffee from a thermos, even instant coffee in despair. But no coffee at all… he shivers at the thought. And they say one of the early signs of corona is loss of taste and smell. He smells his coffee, memorizing the smell once more, just to make sure he will discover it if he ever stops smelling it.

He is startled by the buzzing ringtone in his headset. He has a meeting now, he joins in with sound-only from the kitchen bench. 

“Hi!”

 _“Hi Isak! How’s corona life?”_ Magnus’ voice is loud and clear, but he can hear the noise of kids fighting in the background.

 _“It’s fine. How is daycare going?”_ he says with a laugh. 

_“We’re all fed up already. Eva is trying to get them all to their class meetings now, then she has her department meeting. I just hope the network won’t break down.”_

“ _We can do the status meeting later today if you want to. Just find a slot in my calendar.”_

Something is breaking around Magnus. “ _Shit. No, don’t put your headset into the chocolate milk spill, Alex! Yes, maybe that’d be fine, Isak. Can I call you back in ten minutes, when we have cleaned up this mess?”_

With a smile and a shrug Isak hangs up. It’s a mess, really.

He has taken a break from the guitar playing. He knows a bit about being disturbed when you try to work himself, so why not try to be a bit considerate.

He watches them leave through the kitchen window, the family downstairs. First he hears them leave, running and voices downstairs, the door slams, several pairs of feet thundering down the stairs. 

Then he walks over to the window in the living room and watches them leave through the front door, walking across the parking lot to the empty playground. He can see the little girl run across the gravel, the short legs moving fast in her pink tights and blue sneakers. 

He glances at the email app on his phone. _Monthly report. Hour sheets. Newsletter. Corona risk assessment. Continuity plan meeting. Project board meeting. Advisory Board nomination. Project Plan Form Template. Emma 50 years. Join us for our webinar._ The world seems to go on, somehow.

It’s spring outside. The grass is greening through the old brown stubs from last fall, the winter’s rubbish left on the ground, flat plastic packaging, small pieces of wet paper, watery brown dog poo. It’s cloudy today, shades of grey and white cotton, scattered with blue pieces. 

The girl is now sitting in the large round swing, trying to kick up her own speed. She shouts something, probably asking Even to push her, because he walks over, starting to give her speed. He is tall and strong, it only takes a few pushes before the girl is squealing in delight from far above the ground. Isak is staring at the narrow area of visible skin where Even’s t-shirt slides up, the white shirt above the blue jeans, too far away to see details, but he can imagine what it looks like, smooth skin, muscles, golden hair making a path down…

Darn, he can’t stay here fantasizing about his neighbour! He is married, he is off limits, he tells himself.

Even turns around and yells something at the boy, who has sat himself on a bench, looking grumpily at his phone. Isak can just imagine how he was forced to go outside with his dad and sister, “to get some fresh air,” but without any friends to chat to or play football with.

The boy drags himself up and reluctantly walks over to his sister to continue to push her, looking as if it’s the last thing he is doing in his life. But he starts smiling pretty fast as she shares something Isak thinks is a joke, she talks and laughs and suddenly the sun breaks through and they both seem to be laughing.

Isak wishes he could open the window to hear them. Their young laughter, the birds chirping, Even’s voice when he talks to the kids. But they will see him when the window opens, any movement on their monotonous seven storey building is easily visible from below. He scrunches his forehead, he isn’t sure why he wants to remain unseen. Maybe because looking at them seems like spying on something that is not his, it kind of makes him feel creepy.

The kids seem to be in their own world. The girl is smiling, throwing her head back and facing the sky when the swing moves up as her brother pushes. And he seems to be happy, too. Not the sour face he made when he walked over to her, maybe she has a special power to make people happy, or maybe he was easy to please out of his boredom.

She reminds him of Lisa. They must be the same age, he thinks. It’s been weeks since he has met her now, and they haven’t facetimed for a few days either. Maybe he can call her afterwards, he just has to check with Jonas that he doesn’t interfere with her school work. She will sing for him and ask him how the guitar practice goes and Jonas will tease him about never being able to learn it.

He sighs. Maybe he should go practicing now, use the chance when the others are outside. 

_“I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door. Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door…_ Fuck!” He swears angry as his fingers once more miss the strings and his voice is once more maltracting a song he doesn’t like. Even he can hear his voice isn’t up to it.

He is getting everything mixed up when he tries to play. The rhythm, the chord, the grips on the guitar. His fingers are big and clumsy and end up on the wrong string and it all sounds like a mess. He has found an online metronome to help him keep the speed, but the app he uses tells him he is doing it all wrong and he wishes he had someone here to teach him, to steer his fingers, to tell him what he is doing wrong. Jonas would have done it, but he can’t do it now. Frustrated he looks around on the net for some hands-on course or training, but it seems like he has already visited all those pages. He throws the guitar back on the bed in frustration and hides his face. He really hates this bet.

In the evening he starts thinking about Even in the playground again. And about Even in the dressing gown the other day, in his dressing gown, when the gown slid down and showed his chest. He is trying to watch Tiger King on Netflix, but it’s frustratingly silly, or his mind just keeps floating off, or both.

Without knowing it his hand has moved to his crotch and he has started stroking himself. He is growing behind the soft fabric, the bulge is hard under his palm. His thumb is stroking along the hem and is about to open the zipper when he realizes what he is doing. He startles, _he can’t sit here fantasizing about his neighbour!_ What is he thinking?

He tugs in his pants, but he is still uncomfortably hard. He opens Grindr on his phone, almost automatically, starts to swipe, left, right, right, left. He doesn’t know why he does it, not really, because what does it matter if someone is so close or far away now, when they can’t meet anyway. But he still does.

A new message appears.

_What do you like?_

_Bad boys_

_Bad boys, huh? Want me to hold you real tight and fuck you?_

He lingers above the keyboard. 

_yeah_

A few seconds later a link appears in the chat. _Meet me here._

With a low moan he gets up and walks into his office. He flips open his private computer, moves to the small couch there. It’s black leather, cool and smooth, the anonymous white wall behind, a cityscape picture from IKEA. It’s where he does his video meetings, trying to mimic some kind of meeting room instead of the office. He puts his laptop on the small table, connects the camera on the tripod and makes sure it is where it is supposed to be, low enough to not film anything above his chest, not even if he slides down in pleasure. 

He has done this before. Many times. Hooked up with strangers via video. Listened to their fantasies, shared his own, it doesn’t matter if they are real, as long as the story is good. It’s like a development project, it doesn’t matter if the software is what the client expected as long as the design is good.

It only takes a few minutes before he comes. The other guy is slim and firm, from Oslo, according to the dialect. His long fingers slide along his red glistering dick and just a few seconds after Isak, he cums, too. Ejaculates all over his hand with a throaty moan that makes Isak both embarrassed and hot, all at the same time.

 _This was so good. Wanna meet up so I can tie you up for real? I know a club,_ the guy says while leaning back and dragging his fingers across the blank pool on his belly.

 _Maybe_ , Isak says before pushing the disconnect button.

His balls were blue, he tries to convince himself. That’s why he came so fast. It’s been weeks since last time he hooked up with someone. Too long since he matched with a random guy on Grindr, chose to meet up in a pub, have a few beers, then have a quickie in the bathroom or go home with him. He lives too far into the suburbs himself, half an hour on the metro may kill most lust, so he usually goes where the other man lives.

But the truth is that all the time he was feeling and stroking himself, all he could think about, all he saw on the back of his eyelids, was Even. Even’s belly button, Even’s shoulder, his bum when he was drying his floor the other day, his chin, his lips, tried to imagine how they would feel on him, around him, how he would be inside him. And not matter how much the other guy talked about rough sex and locking him up, all Isak wanted was making soft, tender love to Even. 

He’s clearly lost the plot being quarantined like this. He needs to get back to normal. Meet real people. Go hang out with Jonas and stop obsessing over straight guys who will never even give him a second glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what do you think? Time to get someone else to spend time with? Perhaps Isak should be joining Grindr in stead of grinding coffee?


	5. EVEN

“This is so stupid.” Sonja says, lying in Freya’s bed, the pink sheets making her look unnaturally pale. She is pale anyway, pale enough that Even almost starts to cry. She had turned up almost a week ago, her face full of tears and fear. The kids had been delighted to see her, of course, then Sonja had started coughing and Thor had run away screaming ‘’We’re all gonna die!’’ and Freya had burst into tears. 

And now Even is standing in the doorway, again, holding another glass of water in his hand. 

“Put the facemask on, and I will bring it to you.”

“No, not safe enough. Just put it by the door. Don’t come in here, Even. Please. Promise me you will stay away. I’m terrified I will give this to you too. Please. Promise me.”

“I won’t go anywhere near you. I promise.”

“I don’t need any food, I’m not hungry. Can’t taste anything, can’t even smell my own armpits, and I haven’t showered for two days.”

“Don’t worry, I can’t smell anything from here.”

“Too tired to care.”

“Do you want another coffee?”

“I should have stayed at home.”

“You are right where you should be, with us. At least I can keep an eye on you.”

“I have a bag full of drugs, a fever thermometer and my phone. And 4 glasses of water that you brought me earlier. I’m good.”

She launches into another fit of coughing, making Even back away and hide behind the door. It’s awful. He thought it would be, but the fact that she is right there, and is obviously very unwell, is terrifying. 

“Is that hotel still open? You know, the one by the gas station?”

“The one at Alna?”

“Yeah?” Sonja coughs again. Raw and dry, he can almost feel it in his own throat. “Can you go stay there with the kids?”

“We want to be near you.”

“No, you fucking don’t.”

“Biscuits,” he says softly.

“No you fucking biscuits don’t.” She replies. “What about that neighbour? Thor said you have made a new friend upstairs.”

“Guitar man?” 

“Yeah?” She smiles, he can hear it in her voice.

“He’s nice enough. Terrible musician. Horrible singing voice.”

“Do you like him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, honey. Don’t be like that. Is he special? You know? Like that other guy?”

“It was once, Sonja, I had a boy crush, once and then I got over it. You still totally want to bone Gillian Andersson.“

“I don’t. I said that once, Even, and you keep bringing it up like it’s gospel. Gillian is an actress. She’s hot, and if I had to do a woman, she would be the top of my list, but no, not happening. Is he someone you would consider?”

“I had one,  _ one, _ breakfast visit with a totally antisocial moronic neighbour who doesn’t understand noise pollution, and you are talking like I should date him? You’re crazy.”

She laughs, softly, but at least, it’s a laugh. “You never know it yourself, I mean, I knew you fancied that Lea woman, before you owned up to having kissed her, and I spotted the French guy you had a thing with. I pretty much set the two of you up.”

“We went to the cinema, Sonja. We never even kissed. He was… he wasn’t. Not for me. I mean, I liked Lea. You promised to keep out of my love life, and I would keep out of yours.”

“You shagged Lea.”

“So? You shagged that Thomas. And Stefan. What was the other one? On your conference trip to Rome?”

“Niccolo.” 

“Niccolo.”

“He was hot.”

“You were bored. Horny, and drunk on some lemon Liqueur. “

“You remember far too many details.”

“I know you are boning that Jens. Don’t deny it.”

“It’s none of your biscuity business.”

“Then shut up about the guy upstairs. He’s a neighbour. That’s all.”

“See?” She coughs again. “Why don’t you ask? See if he will help out. You are both well, and I haven’t been anywhere near the kids. Perhaps the kids can sleep up there, away from here. He could teach them to play the guitar.”

Even bursts out laughing. “No. Please… no!”

“Then check with him? He could be all neighbourly for once, hey… He ruined your life for weeks with his guitar, and then tried to flood our apartment. He owes us. He can house the kids for a week, until I am better, and then I can go back home and you can sanitize the apartment and then we go back to normal. Fuck I should have stayed at home, this was just stupid.”

“No,” Even says, pulling the door shut. “No, Sonja. You belong here. I will keep the kids safe, and we won’t go anywhere near you,” he shouts through the door.

He stares at his hands, suddenly filled with dread. Sonja touched the door handle going in, she must have. She closed the door earlier, and now he has touched it too. She washed her hands, didn’t she? He wants to shout and ask, but instead runs to the toilet and washes his hands. Then freezes, because this is Sonja’s toilet and she is ill, and what the fuck is he thinking? He backs out and takes his socks off, throwing them in the toilet bin from the doorway, and kicking the door shut with his bare foot. He didn’t touch anything, and his hands are wet. Fuck. Biscuits. Hell. SHIT!

“Thor?” he calls out, only to be met by silence. “THOR!”

“What?” Comes from the kitchen, where Thor is in the middle of some class on Teams.

“Sorry!” Even mouths, earning himself a stern look from Thor’s teacher who is trying to control a class of 15 in some conference app. He should know better, than to interrupt and shout. He should also remember his son’s homeschooling schedule and probably not embarrass him in front of his friends. He picks up a pen instead, scribbling down a few words on a piece of paper, then pushing it in front of his son’s face.  _ Going up to Isak’s for a sec, Freya watching TV. OK? _

He’s over protective, he knows that. Sonja is there. 

The kids should be nowhere near Sonja. And what if the kids touch the door handle? He’s going crazy in his head, he knows that, as he grabs the antibacterial cleaning spray and heads back to the hallway, spraying every door handle in sight. And his feet. 

Then he dumps the spray bottle in the corner and heads out through the door, closing it gently behind him.

The guy upstairs, Isak, is obviously home, with music coming through the door, and a distinct smell of baking all over the stairwell. 

Even knocks, even though he knows he shouldn’t. Because he’s felt like this before, and he knows it only ends in disaster. Like coming on to a straight guy. Like thinking of kissing people who have no interest in him. Attraction. It’s a strange thing, and him feeling it, is usually the start of something that will end in disaster. Like it did with Sonja. Well, it’s not a disaster anymore, but perhaps telling your long suffering pregnant wife that you might be attracted to a man? Yeah. That had not gone down well. He never cheated, the thought never crossed his mind. But he did try, god knows, he tried. He wants to be happy and loved and have a stable family. He knows he doesn’t want to be the sad single dad, with the amazing ex wife, and the best kids in the world. He just… wants something. Something of his own. 

Dating is out of the question, and all those apps almost caused him to have a break down. Sonja had deleted them all off his phone, in a rage of telling Even he was an idiot, and trying to hug the shit out of him. He wants things to just happen, old style. Meet someone, and have a laugh and just fall in love. Be there and not let some bloody technology decide what he should feel. He can only feel what he feels, and it’s not the same, chatting over some app. 

And anyway, it’s all in his head. This Isak? Gay, then. Likes cock, because he said it himself. That doesn’t mean he likes Even. And even if he did? Does Even like him back? He can’t even picture his face in his head, he thinks, as the door flies open. 

And there he is. Isak. Hands covered in flour, and hair in a mess, and god knows what he’s wearing, some kind of band t-shirt, and an apron messily tied around his waist. 

“Hi” he says, looking at Even. Up and down. “You out of socks? I can lend you some.”

“F… Biscuits.” Even stutters out. “Sorry. Things are a bit of a mess down there. I just needed an out for a second, just to see a friendly face. Kind of forgot about the socks.”

He rocks on his heels, suddenly feeling stupid. You can’t just ask a stranger to house your family for a few weeks, because he’s all read up on this stuff. He needs to quarantine himself, and the kids, right now, and not go near anyone. The virus is all over the flat downstairs, he has no doubt about that, however careful he has been. He could go to his parents? Yeah. Right. They are elderly, and are quietly set up in their apartment, safe and clean with weekly food deliveries from the local store. They had set it all up before this lockdown thing even started. He’s stuck. Right here.

“Wanna come in?” Isak steps back,

“The kid’s mum is downstairs, she’s a doctor, and fuck knows how long she has been working with this going on, but she has tested positive for the virus. She’s isolated in Freya’s room and hasn’t been anywhere near the kids. We’re doing everything right, but it’s all becoming too much. I know I’m being all paranoid, but this isolation has gone to my head. I’m just really worried, far too worried, I don’t want the kids to get it. I don’t want Sonja to be on her own, she’s only got me, and I have to look after her.”

“Chill. Want a coffee?” He’s too calm, Isak. Too fucking calm.

“I shouldn’t be anywhere near you,” Even says, the panic brewing in his voice.

“Go wash your hands. Go have a shower, I don’t care. Take some time out, and I will make you a coffee,” Isak says, stepping back into the hallway. “Seriously, dude, you look like you are about to faint. It’s a flu virus, not a bloody zombie invasion.”

“At this point I think I would prefer the zombies. I could just pop them off, one by one, with Freya’s nerf guns. We have enough of them downstairs to take out an army.”

“Ah! That explains the popping sounds under the floorboards. I thought we had mice for a while.” Isak laughs. 

“Sorry,” Even whimpers.

“Come in. Have a shower. You look like shit.”

“I can’t be anywhere near you.”

“I will stay away. I’ll stay in the kitchen, you sit in the living room at the table. That gives us a good three meters distance. Good enough?”

“I’ll wash my hands… then?” Even says, taking a tentative step towards the door. 

“Shower, dude. Chill. Plenty of hot water, and you can use the towel on the rack, then throw it in the laundry basket. I read the virus doesn’t last more than 72 hours on fabric or something, and there is no risk of me doing any laundry until next week so it would be kind of safe… don’t you think?”

“I don’t know what is safe and what is not, not right now.”

“I’ll get you some clean clothes.”

Even hadn’t even thought of that, and now it’s getting truly ridiculous. He laughs out loud, shaking his head. “I should just go down and grab a hazmat suit.”

“Yeah, or I’ll sit you on my balcony and we can talk through the window.” Isak laughs back. “Dude. Chill. Come in, wash your fucking hands, and come have a coffee. I honestly don’t think you are riddled with virus clothes, and right now, a bit of company would be bloody fantastic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading along. We are both loving all the comments and hope you are all staying safe and well. Drink lots of water. Hug your family. Be kind to yourself. xxxx


	6. ISAK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak's take on virus panic. And some baking and coffee and stuff.

He heard noises coming from the stairs a few days ago. He was in a video conference at the time, so he couldn’t check, but he heard heavy steps, as if someone was dragging a drunk person up, like when Sana’s brother had slept on their couch when he lived with Eskild way back, except he had been the one to help back then. But he remembered the uncomfortable bangs of sloppy feet of an almost unconscious person being dragged up hard stairs. And this was the same sound.

For a second he pondered excusing himself from the meeting, then he was interrupted by a C-level manager. _“Valtersen, could you please present how the current travel and social restrictions will affect the risks of the project?”_

_“Uhm, yes, of course, I will share my presentation now. As you can see here…”_

And when the meeting was over life was silent again.

It didn’t last long, though. Since this morning he has heard almost continuous coughing. The sound is at its worst when he is in the office, he barely hears it from the living room and when he is in the guestroom he can’t hear it at all. It must be her, he thinks, because he heard Even and the kids go outside, and the coughing came from their flat while they were gone.

The kids seem less loud, too. The little girl doesn’t squeal that much, and the strange “plop plop” has stopped. He thinks they are from mice, they may have moved to some other area now, though, shivering at the thought of having them in his bedroom floor. He should call the janitor and ask if she can get pest control to check it out. The boy no longer let the occasional loud noises from his video games or music let through, before he would play loudly and then be silenced by his dad. Now he is just silent.

He is in the middle of shaping a sourdough round when someone knocks on his door. “I need to fix that door bell,” he mutters annoyed to himself. He scrapes the dough off his hands and dries them on his apron while walking towards the door. He throws a last glance at the counter, all filled with a rack of cinnamon swirls and flour and bowls and mess, and just hopes this isn’t an emergency that will take time.

His heart jumps as he opens the door, like a farm of butterflies suddenly escaped in his belly, and there is no way he can hide just how happy he is to see Even, he thinks. 

“Hi,” he says, his voice feeling a bit shaky. 

For a minute none of them say anything. Isak watches Even. He looks weird, flustered. His hair is messy, his face pale. He is wearing a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt with the seams inside-out. And he has no socks on his feet. 

Isak can’t stop himself from staring at the bare feet. The light skin, long, knuckley toes, straight nails, a few stray hairs on the little toes. The skin looks soft, Isak briefly wonders how it would feel under his fingertips. Even is rocking back and forth on his feet, the tendons hardening and the skin getting white spots as his weight shifts.

“You out of socks? I can lend you some.” Once he says it, he squirms with embarrassment as he understands how silly he sounds.

This isn’t how you greet someone who is obviously distraught. This is not a polite greeting. This is not how you welcome someone at your door. Especially someone like Even.

It is as if his words open a waterfall of words, though. “F… Biscuits. Sorry. Things are a bit of a mess down there. I just needed an out for a second, just to see a friendly face. Kind of forgot about the socks.”

“Wanna come in?” Isak steps back from the door so Even can enter. He remembers the first aid courses he has gone to, the disaster training he underwent at some factory project he participated in. It’s all about calming the victims. Talk to them, make them not panic, because you don’t need another casualty at the place.

Even continues to babble. He talks fast, in a low voice, breathing in short, fast puffs. “The kid’s mum is downstairs, she’s a doctor, and fuck knows how long she has been working with this going on, but she has tested positive for the virus. She’s isolated in Freya’s room and hasn’t been anywhere near the kids. We’re doing everything right, but it’s all becoming too much. I know I’m being all paranoid, but this isolation has gone to my head. I’m just really worried, far too worried, I don’t want the kids to get it. I don’t want Sonja to be on her own, she’s only got me, and I have to look after her.”

“Chill. Want a coffee?” 

“I shouldn’t be anywhere near you.” The breath is faster. Isak remembers what he was taught about panic attacks. Relax. Breathe. Relax. He wants to hug Even, he should put his arm around his shoulders and make him calm down, breath with him. Then he remembers he is not supposed to touch him, not get into his space, not breathe his air.

He looks at Even. He seems less distraught now. Maybe it helped just getting it out of the flat. Telling someone Talking to another human adult. “Go wash your hands. Go have a shower, I don’t care. Take some time out, and I will make you a coffee.” Isak takes another step back, making sure Even can enter without touching him. “Seriously, dude, you look like you are about to faint. It’s a flu virus, not a bloody zombie invasion.”

“At this point I think I would prefer the zombies. I could just pop them off, one by one, with Freya’s nerf guns. We have enough of them downstairs to take out an army.”

“Ah! That explains the popping sounds under the floorboards. I thought we had mice for a while.” Isak laughs. He’s glad he hasn’t made a mess by calling the janitor already.

“Sorry.” Even’s small smile lightens up the stairway. He seems more normal now. More colour to his face, less tense.

“Come in. Have a shower. You look like shit.”

“I can’t be anywhere near you.”

Isak bites his lower lip. Of course Even is right. He shouldn’t let him in, he comes straight from an infected nest. He says he hasn’t been near his wife, but who would do that, really? Not helping your loved one, supporting her into the bed, helping her undress, wash her sweaty body, change the linen, bring her water.

There are so many ways to contamination. So many spots to touch. So much air to share. So many droplets to breathe. 

And the virus obviously spreads. The wife, the doctor, has gotten it. Isak has seen how health care workers are protected, how they dress in full-body gowns, face shields, goggles, gloves. He knows how careful a surgeon will usually be to make sure she is clean, and he can only imagine how careful they are in this situation.

Yet she still got sick. Yet the virus still got through her protective armour and into her body. And then it could as well spread further. Like an invisible zombie invasion.

But he can’t tell Even to leave. Not now. He can’t just push him away and tell him to come back if he needs something. Because he strangely needs him too. “I will stay away. I’ll stay in the kitchen, you sit in the living room at the table. That gives us a good three meters distance. Good enough?”

“I’ll wash my hands… then?” Even looks uncertain. He bites his lower lip, and his eyes flicker between Isak and the floor. 

“Shower, dude. Chill. Plenty of hot water, and you can use the towel on the rack, then throw it in the laundry basket. I read the virus doesn’t last more than 72 hours on fabric or something, and there is no risk of me doing any laundry until next week so it would be kind of safe… don’t you think?” He could also use plastic gloves. Put on his dressing gown, the one Even used, it still had his smell so he hasn’t washed it yet, but he can put it over his regular clothes and throw it in last with the towels. 

“I don’t know what is safe and what is not, not right now.” It sounds like Even is about to panic again.

“I’ll get you some clean clothes.” _Just relax_ , Isak thinks.

Even is laughing. “I should just go down and grab a hazmat suit.”

“Yeah, or I’ll sit you on my balcony and we can talk through the window.” Isak laughs back. It seems like Even is calming down again, although he is probably balancing on a sharp edge. Contemplating every thought. “Dude. Chill. Come in, wash your fucking hands, and come have a coffee. I honestly don’t think you are riddled with virus clothes, and right now, a bit of company would be bloody fantastic.”

Isak smiles as he hears the water start in the shower. Even didn’t even spend a minute in there before turning on the water. He has to find some clothes for him. Even is taller than him, but his sweat pants should fit anyway. He grabs his favourite pair from the shelf, before pausing, what if Even is indeed infected, should he throw them away then? _Isak_ , he says serious to himself, _you can wash them_. Even gets his NAS t-shirt, too, and socks, Isak smiles, after all that was what he offered him first. He lingers over underwear, would it be too intimate? In the end he grabs a pair of black boxers, checking them first to see that they aren’t too worn, no holes, definitely clean, the red elastic still stretchy.

“Even,” he says through the bathroom door. “I just leave the clothes outside the door.” There is no answer, just the steady stream of water. “Even?” he says again, a bit louder. The water is turned off inside. “The clothes are outside.” After a muffled “ok” from the inside he walks into the kitchen again. He hears the water turn on again. Luckily Isak doesn’t seem to be the only one slightly concerned about germs.

At least Even drinks coffee, he thinks. Because he doesn’t have any tea. Sana used to laugh about his tea collection and always brings her own tea when she comes over. He does have a tea bubble, though, it’s perfect for drizzling flour or icing sugar over his baked goods. So maybe there is some leftover in the back of the shelf, he thinks, about to go over there to dig in. Then he smiles at himself. _Relax, Isak. He drinks coffee._ Apparently he can’t even think straight now, himself. 

He scrunches his nose up at the mess on the counter. Several bowls, it’s for tomorrow’s bread and for pizza, but he hasn’t really cleaned up between them, so there is flour and butter and dirty utensils all over the place. He has the buns, though, but they really aren’t for breakfast. He spots half a bread from yesterday in a corner. It’s a bit stale, but if he toasts it with some oil and garlic it in the pan and makes a quick tomato salad, he can make a nice bruschetta.

“Wow!” Even comes in as Isak puts the plates on the table, Even’s at the end furthest away from the kitchen. The coffee machine lets out a puff of steam as it is done with their americanos. “I am challenging your taste buds today,” he jokes. “Diluted espresso, so it’s still black coffee.”

Even laughs at him. “I can do coffee with milk too. Thor made that dalgona drink the other day, and it was kind of refreshing. I use four spoons of instant coffee instead of two, though.”

Isak scrunches his nose. “Instant coffee?”

“Yeah? The recipe calls for it?”

Isak smiles and shakes his head. “I will make you the meanest iced coffee later.”

Even shrugs and looks at his coffee. “Are you sure there is no milk in this? The foam looks a bit like the dalgona foam?”

“Completely sure. It’s just espresso and water.”

“Ok.” He looks at it again before taking a sip. “It’s good.”

Isak laughs. “Yeah, I know. It’s honey processed bourbon beans from Minas Gerais in Brazil.I just love the taste of chocolate and spice.” He takes a sip of his own cup. “Sweet spices, can you taste it? Cardamom?”

“You had me at honey,” Even mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Even laughs. “You sound like a coffee snob, though.”

“I am not a coffee snob,” Isak protests. “I may be a coffee geek, though,” he adds.

“Coffee nerd.”

“Coffee geek.”

“What’s the difference?” 

“A nerd is academic, a geek is more of a fan. I love coffee and I try to understand why I like a particular type of coffee or coffee drink. Beyond it just looking cool, I mean,” Isak says, thinking about the dalgoda pictures that flooded his instagram. “And I love the gadgets. Coffee really has so many cool ways of being made!” 

Even smiles at Isak, and he can hear the eagerness in his own voice. 

“Well, mostly it just tastes good,” he excuses himself.

Even nods. “It does, indeed. I am not human without it.”

“Jeeez. No. Neither am I. I would kill for coffee.”

“I guess it’s obvious what you would bring with you for a zombie invasion then,” Even laughs. His smile broadens. “But I guess instant coffee would be easiest. Just pour in a cup and add water?”

“Hah, you don’t think I have travel utensils?” He gets up, stepping over to his coffee gadget shelf, thinking about the travel aeropress, or maybe the small moka that would fit over a gas burner, or perhaps an old fashioned kettle would be best, hung low over an open fire that can also scare attackers away. “Will a fire scare a zombie?” he says out loud.

Even tilts his head as if he is thinking. “Won’t they be drawn towards the heat?”

“But the light will blind them, won’t it?”

“I guess so.” Even nods. “And if it’s a big fire, they may be burned to the spinal cord and be disabled. But then again it may attract more zombies.”

Isak scratches his head and lightens up. “I’ll just bring coffee beans then. And a kettle. So I can grind them and make coffee in the kettle if a fire seems safe, and else I can just chew the beans.”

“Chew the beans?” Even looks at him as if he is mad.

“Have you never tried that?”

Even shakes his head.

“It’s delicious! Well, maybe not delicious, but it’s ok, and a quick way of boosting the caffeine level. I often do it while waiting for my coffee to finish,” Isak admits.

“Instant coffee and sugar below your tongue also works.”

“But that tastes like shit.”

“So you have tried it?” Even teases.

Isak feels his cheeks heat. “May have tried it during high school,” he mutters. When he still lived with Eskild and Linn and money were tight and he hadn’t started to splurge on coffee yet. “But you should really try coffee beans,” he continues and turns towards the cupboard above the counter. Which is still messy as f, and he wonders what Even thinks about it. “Sorry about the mess, I was baking,” he mumbles as he reaches for the small bag on the top shelf.

“Huh? Oh. I didn’t notice. What are you making?” Even stretches his neck to see past him. His neck is really long. The skin looks as tender as on the top of his foot, he thinks, while casting a glance at his feet again. He wears socks now. His socks. A plain grey one, nothing fancy, nothing flashing. They can be washed, he thinks, before blushing at the thought of not washing them. People buy used socks on the internet, and he suddenly understands why. The thought of smelling Even’s used socks sends electrical signals down his spine, like a flash heating him up.

Then he remembers the boxers and his cheeks feel even more red and warm as he thinks about Even wearing his underwear. The underwear he has worn, the slick black cotton shaping around his buttocks, between his thighs, hiding the bulge, fitting around the hips, the teasing trail disappearing down…

Fuck. He must stop. He can’t sport a boner now. 

“Hey, Isak, you ok?” Even looks concerned, staring at him. “If you are worried about being infected, I can leave.” He looks down at his half-eaten bruschetta and the coffee in his cup, grabbing for the latter as if to empty it in one last sip before disappearing.

“Eh, yes, sorry, I am ok. No. It’s not you, you don’t have to leave. Please don’t leave!” He probably sounds kind of desperate. 

“Are you sure?” Even moves as far away from him as he can come.

“Yes, no, I am sure. I am not worried. We’re keeping a safe distance, you are clean, you just showered and changed into my t-shirt and pants and socks and…” He stops himself. “Anyway, I just thought about something and now I am not thinking about it any more.” He reaches for the small bag again, leaning towards the counter so he can discreetly feel if he has a bulge that needs to be taken care of. It doesn’t feel like that when his body hits the hard material, though, it feels flat. Just in case he pulls his t-shirt as far down as he can when he turns around to get a bowl from the other cupboard.

He looks down at the small bowl in his hand. “I guess we can have one teeny weeny bowl each,” he mutters to himself.

“What is it?” Even asks.

“Wait and see.”

“Chocolate?” Even looks suspiciously at the bowl.

“Try it!”

Even takes a piece. He scrunches his forehead. “Dark chocolate?” Then he chews. “Is it coffee?”

“Yes! Chocolate covered coffee beans!”

“Wow! Had no idea that existed! But it’s good.” Even takes another one. “I guess you know what kind of bean it is, too?” he teases.

Isak laughs. “Of course I do. It’s the same kind as you are drinking. Honey processed. They would be too bitter if they were fully washed and fermented.”

“Ok…” Even smiles at him. “You really are a nerd.” 

“Guess so, then.”

“But I like you anyway.” Even looks at him. His eyes are blue. Dark blue, like the sky in the evening, after sunset, before it gets really dark.

It suddenly feels like Isak is 17 again. He lacks words, he is blushing. “Ehr… thank you.”

“You are a nice guy. Not everyone would have let their neighbour come straight from the corona head-quarters to breakfast.”

“Oh.” Of course he just meant that. _Get real, Isak_.

“I guess I should head downstairs again. I have been here too long. The kids are alone. Well. Not all alone, obviously, but Freya is watching TV and Thor is having a school meeting. I guess they’ll be done by about now.”

Isak nods. “I guess they would have come upstairs if they needed something?”

“Yes, they know where I am.” They get up and walk towards the hallway. 

“Hey, wait a second.” Isak rushes to the counter and fills a bag with cinnamon swirls. “Your kids like cinnamon buns?” 

Even smiles. “They love everything baked.”

“So they’d love me, then. Or the things I make, I mean,” Isak laughs.

“They absolutely love you already,” Even assures him as he grabs the bag. “And they will adore you even more now. Thor has been raving about your bread for days.”

“It’s super easy. He could make it himself.”

“Hey hey, I don’t bake.”

“I said he could. Not you.”

Even puts on that mock shock face. He’s funny, Isak knows that already. Quick and witty. “Are you saying I can’t bake?” he spits out in pretend disgust. 

“Just honest. Seriously, that bread is so easy that even you could make it, I think.”

“Don’t think so. I can’t even make toast. Thor had this school project last week, make an English dinner. So I made beans on toast.”

“Beans on toast? Canned tomato beans?” He makes a grimace. “That’s really horrible!”

“Yes, I know, but it was all I could think of. Everything else was so complicated. And with food and ingredients we didn’t have.”

“You could have made fish and chips? They even come pre-packaged in a tin form.”

“I didn’t think of that.”

“Or you could have ordered some from Foodora,” Isak laughs.

Even rolls his eyes. “Yeah yeah. I will think of that next time, thank you very much.”

“You know, next week won’t be English food. That will be French week. Or Japanese.”

“Fuck. Snails then.”

“Or sushi. Takeaway. Delivery. Foodora.”

“You’re brilliant.”

“I may be able to bake, but I do cheat. Sometimes. I know some tricks, too.”

“Obviously.” Even laughs. “But I better go now.” He looks down at his clothes. “I just wrapped my own clothes in the towel. I… I can bring them downstairs and wash them.” He hides a swearing.

“But you have forgotten to book the laundry again, haven’t you?” Isak laughs.

Even looks a bit ashamed. “How did you guess?”

“I do know my tricks, you know. But I happen to have a laundry slot booked. You can have it. And I can wash your clothes, no problem, just leave them where they are. I’ll just come over with them when they are done.” He winks at Even. “Did you find your laundry card?”

“Uhm, yeah. Freya found it. It was at the cork board in the kitchen. Sonja would always put it there.”

Sonja again. He shrugs. “Sonja would. I guess.”

“She knows everything. She’s very organized. Much better at running a home than I will ever be.” Even bends down to pull up his loose sock. Isak swallows as he gets a glimpse of a familiar red elastic band just above the hem of the pants. “I’d better leave now. Thanks for the breakfast and the buns. The kids will love them.” His smile is wide and warm. “And the coffee. In all its forms. I will think about you when Thor is making Dalgona again!” Even winks at him.

It’s quiet when Even shuts the door and leaves. Isak sits down and tries to process the last hour. He looks at the coffee cup, the crusts on Even’s plate, the bowl with a few coffee beans. He leans towards it to take one of them, then stills as he remembers the virus. He should clean up, throw away any leftovers after Even. Maybe he should disinfect the table, too. And the chair. What about the door knobs? 

He takes a deep breath. No. He is not doing that. Normal good hygiene. Social distancing. They are following the rules. None of them are sick, not a cough from Even, not a sniff or a droplet of snot.

He still walks into the bathroom to wash his hands. At least that’s part of the rules, too. When he is done he almost stumbles in the towel heap next to the basket. He grabs it and puts it on top of the laundry in it. The towel package slides open as he drops it, and a bundle of clothes appears. Isak’s gasps when he sees the blue boxer on top of the heap. His arm automatically shoots forward and lets his fingers stroke briefly across it. The cotton is soft against the skin on his fingertips. Then he startles and draws back. 

It’s Even’s used clothes, the ones he has used inside with his wife. Isak can’t touch them, he can get sick. He stands frozen looking at his fingers. They look like they did before, they don’t look dirty. Yet they have just touched Even’s dirty laundry and he feels dirty as fuck.

***

In the afternoon he makes pizza. He has made extra dough, usually he freezes them for easy pizzas later, but today he wants to surprise Even and the kids. Hopefully they haven’t made dinner yet, but from what he told him earlier he kind of doubts it. They can save the pizza for tomorrow if they like, he will bake it just a bit on the low side so they are easy to heat.

He sighs when he opens his fridge to find toppings. He has no idea what these kids like. For his own he adds artichokes and spinach on a layer of ricotta cheese, and then some chèvre on top, he loves white pizzas. But kids usually want the more regular, boring kind. If Lisa was here he would have topped her with meatballs, but he doesn’t have that and he doesn’t really want to go shopping just for a pizza for his neighbour either. It’s kind of against the rules, when his fridge and shelves are full of completely edible food.

But he has some salami sausage, a mild one, that’s fine. And some tomato sauce, and cheese. And pineapple. The sweetness completes the fat cheese and the spice of the salami. While the pizza bakes, he gets another idea. With a smile he gathers a few things in a bag to bring down.

He walks slowly down the stairs, so he won’t stumble. He holds the baking sheet with the pizza in his hands, covered with a towel, so the cheese won’t get too soggy. A plastic bag dangles from his wrist. He can almost imagine himself falling headfirst down the stairs, pizza and baking sheets flying everywhere. It makes him giggle softly, taking another careful step, balancing his hip against the handrail.

He awkwardly pushes the doorbell without losing anything. Hopefully the bell is still working. He should really have his own fixed.

The door opens, just a narrow slice. “Hi?” It’s the boy. He opens the door a bit more when he sees Isak.

“Hi. Uhm. I made this.” He nods at the baking sheet he holds.

“What is it?”

“It’s pizza.” He manages to pull off the towel while holding the sheet with one hand. “Damn, can you take this bag, please?” The handle is digging into his wrist. The boy takes it off without saying anything. He looks at the pizza. “Have you made it?” he asks.

Isak nods.

“Wow. It looks like at the pizza restaurant. I didn’t know you could make them yourself.” He looks suspiciously at Isak. “You made it all on your own, or do you mean you bought it and heated it yourself?”

Isak laughs. “I made it myself. Made the dough yesterday with very little yeast. It’s been raising overnight, so the crust is fluffy and chewy, you know like proper pizza should be.”

“Cool. And what is this?” He looks down at the bag in his hand.

“It’s for you. Have a look.”

The boy scrunches his forehead and looks at Isak before looking into the bag. “Flour. And…” He picks up the small bag. “Yeast?”

“I thought you could try to make the bread I made the other day. It’s dead simple. The recipe is on the sheet there, just make sure the cast iron pot is really warm before you pour the dough into it.”

“Make sure that what is warm?” Even is peeking out from behind the boy. “Isak! Hello!” He brightens up.

“I made some pizza.” He holds out the pizza for Even to grab. “Thought you might like some homemade food,” he says with a wink. “But you can have it tomorrow if you’ve already made plans for today’s dinner.”

“Oh no, you bet we haven’t.” Even sighs. “It’s a mess here, you know.”

“How… how is your… how is Sonja?”

Even shrugs and looks at the kids. The boy is reading the sheet, and the girl is standing next to him peeking into the bag. 

“It’s much the same,” he sighs, his voice is low. “She is pretty sick. But not worse than yesterday. Sleeps a lot. Drinks, but doesn’t eat. She says nothing tastes anything so she is not hungry. I keep forcing her to have some smoothie, though.”

A loud coughing rips through the hallway. The sound goes on and goes on, really painful and bad. He can hear a weak voice afterwards, but can’t interpret the words. 

“I better go check on her,” Even says. His eyes look tired and he has some dark bags under them that Isak didn’t see this morning. He smiles. “Thanks for the pizza.” 

He smiles, and suddenly the Even from this morning is back, bright and animated. He smiles and Isak goes weak in the knees. It’s awful. He has to stop this. Stop this underhand flirting, stop the stupid gifts of baked goods, and stop the unessesary contact. They are in a pandemic for fucks sake. Whatever. He will stop tomorrow. Stay at home. Be safe and sensible. Bake bread until his knuckles bleed. Play his fucking guitar. 

He’ll stop this. 

Tomorrow. 

For now? He goes back upstairs with a warm blush on his cheeks and a smile on his face. 

Fuck it. 

Sorry. Biscuits. BISCUITS!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your lovely comments ❤️ We hope you are keeping up with everything, and that things are loosening up a bit. 
> 
> In Isak&Even's community they are still a few weeks away from escaping homeschooling and rigid rules, but luckily people have been allowed to go outside during all the lockdown. No restrictions unless you are in isolation (i.e. being sick) or in quarantine (after travel, or close contact with a covid-19 infected person, or suspected infection), just advise about the size of groups and how many people to social distance with. As of now we're just waiting for kids' soccer to start properly again.


	7. EVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Friday night, and the red wine is just staring Even in the face. Mocking him.

If Even had thought life was weird before? Well, now everything seems to have become stressfully chaotic. It was bad enough when it was just him and the kids, but with Sonja in the flat 24/7? He feels constantly on edge, like he has to be on his best behaviour, trying to keep the kids on track and entertained enough to be quiet. Sonja sleeps a lot, too tired to stay awake for longer than an hour here and there. It’s been days of it, the constant coughing, the banging on the door, the kids trying to get her attention, and he’s drained from worrying about everything. 

His hands are red raw from all the handwashing, and he doesn’t even want to think about how many bottles of disinfectant he has gone through, spraying and wiping down the doors in the hallway, the constant cleaning of the toilet Sonja uses, and even though he uses gloves to collect her used plates, he still washes everything twice, and then washes his hands. Again. 

It’s ridiculous. All of it. 

What is even more ridiculous, is that his son has taken up baking bread. That Isak-guy upstairs gave him a recipe, and flour, and then Thor mixed it all together, like it was some high tech experiment. Well, if that wasn’t bad enough, Thor then took it upon himself to go upstairs and ask Isak questions through the letterbox. And Even wasn’t sure if he was about to laugh or cry as he had to go up and apologize to Isak for his son’s rude and dangerous intrusion, only to find Isak apologizing back for the flour thing. And for the bread thing. There had been another bag of ingredients in Thors hand, which Isak had apoligized for. Then they both apologized and it had just been embarrassing. 

What is even more embarrassing is that it’s nine in the evening and Even is exhausted beyond belief. He is also stressed out after arguing with Freya over the need for a bath, and getting Thor to shower was a lost cause, since he had forgotten to buy showergel, and he had agreed with a sigh, that Thor should not shower for the sake of it, and save the planet by not wasting water. _A shower without soap was as good as nothing_ , Thor had said and slammed the door to his room shut. 

Freya has gone to sleep, tucked up in Even’s bed, Sonja has been quiet for a few hours, sleeping in between the intermittent fits of coughing. She’s better, she even says so herself, but they are nowhere near out of the danger zone. So now he stands here, in the kitchen, staring absentmindedly into the fridge. 

He needs a drink. Not that he drinks much, but right now? A nice glass of wine would do the trick. Just something to calm him down. Something to numb the voice in his head, constantly reminding him that he is not good enough. Not smart enough. Not enough of a good parent. The worry that Sonja will realize that he is actually useless as a single parent, despite her assurances that he’s doing fine. He’s not, he knows that. He should have done more with all this extra time he has had with the kids. Perhaps organized the billions of photos he has of them growing up. Made some fun videos of them as babies, growing up, year by year. He has seen them online, colleagues who make fun special effects things where they turn their kids into superheroes. They should have played board games. Learned to cook. Perhaps he should have tackled his tax return, and organized his paperwork. Instead he has collapsed in bed every night, trying to read a chapter from a book he will never finish, whilst scrolling through social media on his phone. 

He needs wine. There is a bottle of red at the back of the cupboard, which he opens with a satisfying plop, holding the bottle in his hand, as he rummages through the cupboards looking for a wine glass. He grabs two, suddenly hit by an urge not to drink alone. 

There is movement upstairs, he can hear the footfall above him. Perhaps Isak is just about to go to bed, switching everything off for the night. He’s hit by nerves as he tiptoes up the stairs, wine bottle in one hand and the glasses in the other. What if Isak has company? He knows not everyone is living like a monk in lockdown, people still hook up. Have sex. Do stupid things like bringing a bottle of wine to annoy your unsuspecting neighbour late at night. 

It’s quarter past nine, for fucks sake. Normal people don’t disturb their neighbours at this time of night, but Even is not like normal people. He is stressed, and probably a little bit depressed and his head is a mess and he just needs to sit down and drink a glass of wine and talk to someone who is not a child. Someone who will probably judge him for his bad lockdown etiquette and manners, but he thinks Isak has proven to be just as unneighbourly as Even when it comes to manners anyway. So fuck it. He rings the doorbell. Stands there like a fool in his socked feet, with his keys dangling between his fingertips. He at least brought his keys. Locked his front door. Left his kids asleep. Or not, in Thor’s case, but he has no doubt that Thor is watching his TV and won't be a bit bothered about his father going missing for a few minutes. 

“Hey,” Isak says, opening the door with a smile. 

He doesn’t even look surprised, which makes Even a little bit calmer. 

“I was just going to have a glass of wine, and thought, perhaps. You know. You brought all that pizza, and the bread, and…”

“You brought wine. And glasses,” Isak says, taking a step back, as to let Even step over the threshold.

“I’m freshly showered, the clothes are clean,” he says, apologetically, holding a glass towards Isak. “I washed my hands before touching the glasses.”

“It’s fine,” Isak says, quietly. “Do you want to sit in the kitchen, or I have a sofa and an armchair. I usually sit in the armchair, if you want the sofa. That should be enough distance? You think? Drink in comfort?”

“Drink, I don’t even care about the comfort.” Even sighs. “I just want to sit somewhere where I can hear myself think, and drink a couple of glasses of wine so I don't have to remember what my life is like at the moment. I love my kids, fuck, I love them more than anything, but if I have to live though another day of Daddy this and Daddy that and Daddy Mummy needs and Daddy Freya poured her Fun light into the Xbox again...then… “

“Bad day?” Isak laughs softly. “Would you like me to play some guitar for you?”

“Ehhhr.”

“Don’t be shy. I know I suck at anything to do with music. I think that gene is faulty in me. Along side the gene that stops you from churning out stupid jokes and inappropriate stuff.” 

“You? Saying inappropriate stuff? I was the one who was making all those cock jokes the other day…” Even starts. Then stops. Talk about inappropriate things. Instead he pours two glasses of wine, spilling a few droplets on Isak’s table. He doesn’t care right now. He just wants to close his eyes and lay back on the sofa and let the world fade out for a few seconds. 

“Cheers,” he says, lifting his glass, looking Isak in the eye before knocking the first mouthful back. It’s a little dry, bitter at first, before mellowing on his tongue. Sharp. Sliding down his throat with a satisfying burn. He takes another sip. Savouring the calm that comes over him, looking over at Isak who seems to be doing the same. Just drinking in the calm. The flat still bathing in the dusky evening light. The TV flickering in the background with the sound on mute. 

“I get lonely,” Even says. “I’m surrounded by my family, but I am still fucking alone.”

“It’s that time of night,” Isak says quietly. “I’ve always liked my own solitude, but you know, I proxy parent this kid.” 

“I was going to ask about the kid. I’ve seen her around. It’s a girl? Right? Thor mentioned a name?”

“Lisa. She’s my mate Jonas’ kid.”

“You said proxy parent? What is that?”

“Glorified babysitter.” Isak laughs. “Jonas is a pilot, and his wife is one too. They fly for SAS so are on some crazy schedules. Lisa has lived with me since she was two, just a few nights here and there, but you get kind of attached when you spend so much time together. She’s great. Very chilled, smart kid. She’s got this musical gene, plays violin and piano and all kinds of things.”

“Guitar?” Even laughs.

“Yeah. Guitar too. Jonas plays, he bought Lisa her first guitar when she was a baby. Ridiculous, I know, she mostly drooled on it. Anyway, I was going to say, I haven’t seen Lisa for weeks, her parents are obviously grounded, so they are at home, but I’m used to having company. And now? Nothing. I just sit here, and I miss her. I miss her chatter, the mess she makes, the way she always forgets to flush the loo and I even miss her stupid games. She hides the remote, and then when she’s gone to sleep I can’t watch TV because she leaves it logged into her Netflix account, stuck on pause, and I am too whipped to turn it off. Drives me mad. She even took it to school one day to mess with me. The little shit.”

“She must really hate you.” Even giggles, making Isak laugh.

“No, she was just really into the show she was watching and didn’t want to miss a minute of it. Kids' brains think differently sometimes. She doesn’t mean any harm. Well, she did stick it in the oven once. I’m sure she was hoping I would bake it. As an experiment of course, I think it was around the time we were reading up on batteries and how they explode.”

“She sounds like Thor and Freya. _Daddy, if we stick your hairspray in the microwave, what will happen?_ ”

“Kids.” Isak mutters, taking another sip of wine, then grimacing wildly. “Honesty check.” he says, sitting up straighter in the chair. “I’m a beer drinker. I can usually stomach red wine, but this stuff is giving me heartburn already. Do you mind if I grab a beer?”

“You are supposed to be an adult!” Even laughs. “Go grab a beer. More red wine for me then. Sorry, I should have asked what you usually drink.”

“Beer.” Isak replies from the kitchen, returning to his chair with an opened bottle in his hand. “I drink anything. Cheap stuff. Craft beer. Microbrewery stuff, I’m not fussy. Next time you fancy a drink, I will introduce you to some of my favourites. I might have to go shopping though, not much left in my cupboards now.”

“Sounds good.” Even says, taking another sip of wine, and refilling his glass. 

“Anyway, hairspray?” Isak winks. “What’s that all about?”

“Just for the occasional meeting. My hair is too long, and out of control, but I’ve always had it like this, and a bit of hairspray keeps it...you know. Temporarily under control.”

“Just admit it. You’re vain. You pulled girls with that floppy hair in your twenties, and now you are hoping it still works.”

“Not pulling anyone with this hair, I can guarantee you that.” Even mutters. 

“Your wife?” Isak asks, looking down at his hands. 

He shouldn’t ask. This is not the conversation Even wants to have right now.

“Divorced, many years. We’re good. We have shared custody and we stopped fighting a long time ago. We know where we stand. She works too much to have a meaningful relationship, and me? I’m not easy to live with.”

“Tell me anyone who is easy to live with.”

“Yeah.” 

They go into silence again. Isak staring at his hands, gripping the bottle in his hand with claw like fingers. Even. He doesn't know where to look. Something is off, and he can’t put his fingers on it. 

“Have you always liked men?” 

“What?”

“You’re gay? You said you liked cock. Quite a few times if I remember right.”

“Yeah.” Isak smiles, a blush creeping up his cheeks, making Even smile.

“Have you got a boyfriend?”

“Nah. Well. Yes. No….Yes, I’m gay. Always have been, no interest in women, ever. Easy. Boyfriend? No. As you said, some people are not easy to live with. I don’t think I am either. I’m not needy or affectionate and I don’t think it’s...You know? I’ve lived on my own for too long, and Lisa takes up a lot of my time, and where would the other person fit into that? I just hook up with people when...you know...the need comes on.”

“No needs here.” Even laughs. “I wouldn’t know where to meet someone to hook up with these days. It’s been a long time.”

“Well, you know, us gay boys. We’re totally slutty. If you ever fancied anything, just ask.”

Well, now Isak seems to be trying to sink through the floor, his face having gone completely red, and he’s staring at his feet. 

“Sorry. That was uncalled for and inappropriate.” Isak almost whispers. “This lockdown has gone to my head, and I seem to have forgotten how to behave around other people. I apologize. Sorry. Forget I said that.”

“You just came on to me. That’s a first. I’m quite honored.” Even smiles. “I mean, in a good way. I hope. It’s been a long time since anyone flirted with me.”

“I didn’t flirt….” Isak tries, but it’s no good. “Ok, so maybe I flirted a little. Sorry. Wine. Makes me stupid. That’s why I drink beer, it makes me less stupid.”

“I’m just stupid all the time.” Even mutters. 

“I promise I won’t flirt with you again. No more cock jokes. Deal?” 

“Ehhr.” Even is stupid too, because this is where he should smile and say, _Yeah. No problems_. Instead he sits here and doesn’t know what to say. “I have no problems with you being gay,” he says instead.

“Thank you,” Isak mutters. “I bet you are going to say you have a gay cousin who is very nice, and you love gay people because we are so funny or something stupid like that.”

“Gay people are not funny.” 

“Whatever.”

“I haven’t got a gay cousin. I think my parents’ dog was gay. She always tried to mount the neighbours dog. Another female.”

“You say some stupid shit.”

“I know.”

“Wanna talk about your job or something?”

“Wanna hear some real stupid shit? Get me talking about my job and you will be kicking me out of here within seconds. I promise you, it’s not something people usually agree with.”

“Now,...I’m intrigued.”

“Don’t ask.” Even says. “Please. And on that note, I will bid you goodnight. I’ll take the wine glasses down. Thank you for letting me hang out again, sorry about the crap wine.”

He nods, grabs his glasses, and leaves, leaving the half drunk bottle behind as he shuffles out in the hallway, slamming Isak’s front door shut behind him. 

He doesn’t know what is off. Why he’s behaving like a dick. 

He likes Isak. He really does. And then Isak goes and flirts with him and Even is supposed to play along and it’s… he’s so out of his comfort zone here that it’s not even funny. This. Is. 

Stupid. 

And it should stop, right here. Right now. End of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, for hanging out with us in this mad universe, and for coping with this pandemic as well as you are. You are amazing. You are doing well. We all are. Big hugs, and the two of us are raising our glasses of red wine to you, right now. Cheers!


	8. ISAK

Fuck fuck fuck. He left. Of course he left. After all that bullshit Isak managed to say in that short time, it’s no wonder he just left. Isak would have done the same.

But before that it was nice. Even was so beautiful when he sat there on his sofa, his tousled hair, tired face, but still beautiful. Composed through all the chaos, where Isak would have been in distress.

Even brought the glasses home with him when he left, but the bottle is still sat on the coffee table, so it isn’t quite like he was never there. The bottle is half full. Isak smells it carefully, the sour whaff of wine hits his nose. It’s true that he doesn't drink wine. It looks adult, but tastes bad. Now he is kind of intrigued to try it, taste the same as Even, maybe he could understand Even better then. And it would probably not hurt him, he could just stay away from any channels where he can do stupid things.

Of course it hurts him. Two hours later he is sick as fuck, and ends up running to the bathroom to puke into the toilet like a stupid teenager. Red spots that decorate the inside of the porcelain, like a modern painting. At least he hits the bowl, he thinks, and his bathroom won’t look like a massacre took place there. 

Then he pukes again, instinctively moving his head away as the seat falls down, then he hears the cascade hitting the floor tiles.

The good thing is that he is just sick, not drunk. He drank perhaps a third of the bottle. It’s really no way he is drunk. He just doesn’t tolerate wine well, not only because it makes him say stupid stuff, but he gets sick too. So he is fine afterwards, as fine as one can be after cleaning the bathroom. Good hygiene is important, he knows, during these times, so he adds a few sprays of disinfectant when the floors are white again. It can’t hurt, and it smells clean.

He walks into the kitchen and makes himself a coffee afterwards. His body feels a bit limp, he needs something to be normal again.

He startles when he sees the Little My mug Even used the first time he was here. He remembers the mug in Even’s hand, how his long fingers slide through the handle and crammed around the ceramics, his lips closing around the rim. The soft light through the window that hit his hair, his smile.

And now he left and probably won’t come back again. Ever.

Which is probably why Isak can’t sleep. He is tossing and moving, it’s too cold, too warm, too everything. So he grabs his phone and starts searching for Even. He finds loads of hits. He has been to the annual meeting of his son’s football club. He’s being thanked for baking cakes for their kiosk during matches. Shared a movie with his daughter’s dance performance on Facebook. Selling pallets of toilet paper for school band fundraising.

No hints about what he actually does, though. Isak finds a company name, his name, his age, address, the familiar building on the map. Even is two years older than him, Isak briefly wonders when his birthday is. He has a company, business area “ _production of film, video and television”_ according to the business registry. It doesn’t say much, there are too many companies doing that. Isak searches for the company he is working for himself, and they have the same clinical formula listed as one of their business areas. Isak smiles, apparently he works with film himself. Right.

He wonders what Even actually does. The company name doesn’t ring a bell. _Creative Bech_. It’s anonymous and uncool, it could have been the name of a hip auditing company. If auditing companies could be hip, he doubts it. And they would probably not reinforce creativity anyway.

It’s quiet outside. The traffic has never been bothersome here, just a stray car now and then at night, no fighting, shouting, music, just calm people living calm lives. But now during lockdown it’s been even more quiet. It’s almost an eerie feeling when he listens. Like if he is all alone, the last person at earth, only himself left here under the dark April sky. 

He continues his search. He usually doesn't do this, he isn’t a stalker and it’s nothing like what he does for a living. He doesn’t care about formalities around his clients at work, they have people to care about that, an entire department dedicated to controlling, actually, and he has always valued the anonymity with sex, too, never felt inclined to check out on anyone. But now it’s like this company has become a hidden quest he has to solve. 

Suddenly he finds it. A connection. A link to another company, one that rings a bell. A name that he has heard about before. Or rather seen before. On screen. _Peacock Cutting._ An American company, but apparently with strong strings to Creative Bech, listed as sole provider in some business registry. So _Creative Bech_ is basically doing all Peacock’s work. And Isak does know what kind of work Peacock Cutting edits. Not butcher movies, not horror or animal cruelty. And not peacock movies, although there are quite a lot of cocks, actually. 

He makes a search on PornHub, and finds what he expects. And he remembers having seen some of them before. He likes the aesthetics of them, the lighting, the editing, more subtle changes in moods, less direct than many other movies. Still, it’s porn. It’s something that makes him horny. And this time not so much the actors, even though they are muscular and sexy and hard and seriously ready for action. Or he supposes, acting.

But the thought of Even cutting this film makes him hard in a minute. The thought of Even looking through these movie snippets, the scenes, the different angles, and choosing what he thought was the most endearing and sexy, choosing a combination of pictures that makes Isak hard. It’s like getting a glimpse into Even’s mind, he thinks, his preferences, his fantasies, even if Isak knows that isn’t quite how it works. But he knows the art of telling the story, of making the acts come alive in a natural order and setting, of making what the customer wants, and a well made project can only be made if you believe in it.

Isak admires the actors’ bodies, starts with the young man sitting on the couch, and then his stare moves on when another man comes in. They are students, room mates, drinking wine and chatting, and suddenly they are in each other’s arms, kissing, cuddling, the camera panes over them, then zooms in on a nipple, a belly button, muscles, a moving hand, dark hair, their hot lips meeting. In a brief thought it occurs to Isak how much things have changed in just a few weeks, how this situation, how tempting it is, is impossible today.

He wonders if Even was ever there, if Peacock Cutting does more than the only film cutting. Maybe he was on set too. 

Isak thinks about the actors, lying there in the bright light from the spots no doubt angled at them. All the other production people staring at the actors, all while the guys are fucking each other’s brains out. It shouldn’t excite him, but he can’t help it and his dick gets harder under his palm. He reaches for the bottle of lube he has in his desk drawer, and smoothes himself up. His hand is wet and tight around his hard dick, he closes his eyes and tries to imagine Even’s hole tight around him, how his dick in pondering in an out of his hole, how the hole adjusts his girth, while he slides in and out of him. With a loud noise he cums over his hand, feeling himself pulsate under his palm.

***

He tries to forget. Not that that is easy with the evidence staring at him from every part of his own home. The wine bottle in the recycling. The stained towel on top of his laundry pile. The tissues still lying underneath his desk. Disgusting, he knows. And despite picking them up with his fingertips and flushing them down the toilet? They are still there in his head. The thoughts. Longing. A little bit of heartbreak, perhaps. The uncomfortable feeling of having overstepped the line with no way of clawing back to where he went wrong.

Which makes it even stranger when the doorbell rings, and he opens the door expecting anything but. Even.

“Hi.” He says. Even. He is pale and droplets of sweat are running down his forehead.

“Hi. Come inside?” Isak asks, taking a step to the side to let Even in.

He shakes his head. “No, I have to go downstairs again, Thor needs all this help with a project and Freya is about to freak out after two days inside now.”

“And Sonja?” Isak hears himself ask.

“That’s why I am coming. She is better. And now she wants sour jellymen.” Even makes a grimace.

“Ew.”  
“Exactly. That’s why she must be better. But…” He massages his forehead with his fingertips. The white marks they are leaving are turning red. “I really can’t go out. Or not into a store, at least. I read about this case where someone infected six people and two of them died, Isak!” Even’s voice is almost rising into a shriek.

Isak smiles at him. “But you can see me?”

Even looks shocked and takes a step back.

“I was just kidding, Even. I am not afraid of being infected. And you are well, aren’t you? It’s only Sonja coughing down at your place, and I know you are really careful with washing and disinfectant.”

Even nods and sighs. “It’s just that I don’t have anybody else I can ask,” he says.

“And now you want me to shop for you?”  
“Only these sour jelly figures. And some coke. And maybe some beer.”

“Beer? So you can tolerate that? I thought you were a wine man?”

Even blushes. “I can drink beer. The wine store is farther away, I won’t ask you to go there.”

Isak smiles. He can do this. “You know what, Even. Just write me a list and I will do your shopping. And I can easily go to the wine store as well. But you have to write down the exact product you want, because I wouldn’t trust myself to choose wine. I know shit about that kind of stuff. Red, white… bloody rose.”

Even finally smiles. It’s like the sun itself is standing in front of him, Isak thinks, then frowning, wondering where all _that_ thought came from. “I can do that,” he says.

“And Freya? Is she bored?”

Even just shakes his head. “She’s attention seeking and causing arguments, all the time. Thor has this history project in school so he works 6-7 hours a day with it, and I need to help him a lot. Freya keeps stealing his papers and unplugging the laptop charger. I also have some work projects I need to finish for a client. It’s just a little chaotic right now, everything is just building up and I can’t seem to catch up.”

“But people will understand that you are busy with homeschooling and lockdown, won’t they?”

Even makes a face. “It’s actually the opposite. I… work in a field where the clients are young and uncommitted, and they seem to think the lockdown is a perfect time for catching up. I am just lagging behind every day,” he sighs.

“I see….,” Isak says. “Maybe I could bring Freya when I am shopping? She is like Lisa, I am sure I can handle her,” he adds.

Even chuckles. “I don’t doubt you could handle her, probably better than I can. But I can’t really ask you to do that.”

“You are not asking. I am offering.”

“Yeah. Ok.”

“Ok?”

“Yes, you can take her outside.”

“Thank you!”

“I think I am the one to be grateful here. At least not thank me until she is back.”

Isak smiles back at him. “I have to finish something here now, but I can come down in about half an hour?”

“Great! I will make a list and get Freya ready!”

When Isak comes downstairs, Freya is peeking through the door. When he puts his finger at the bell to ring she opens it and runs into the staircase. “I am going out! I am going out!” she cheers.

Even is standing right behind her. He looks a lot fresher than half an hour ago, less pale and tired, and his eyes are glittering with something Isak can’t really pinpoint.

“Thanks for doing this, Isak.”

“No problem,” he smiles.

“We usually have groceries delivered, but I had no idea Sonja was going to crave these sour jellymen.”

“It’s kind of weird,” Isak nods.

“Mm.”

“But I’ll fix it,” he assures Even. “I’ll just leave the receipt in the bag, and then you can send me money back?”

Even nods relieved. “Let’s do that.”

“Can we go now?” Freya looks impatiently up at him. She is wearing a pair of pink tights and a unicorn t-shirt.

“I think you should put on a jacket,” Isak says to her, knowing too well how fast a stubborn kid can freeze to ice.

“Dad said so too,” she pouts.

“Dad is right,” Isak nods.

“Yeah, dad is always right,” Even says with a grave face.

“Not always,” Freya protests.

“Yes.”

“You said that Isak was rude and horrible.”

“I did not.” Even’s face becomes a deeper shade of red.

“You did.” Freya is stomping. Isak is about to laugh. 

“Look.” Even looks at Isak in something resembling despair. “I didn’t mean it. I … I…” He looks like he is about to cry.

“It’s ok,” Isak says with a giggle. “Come on, Freya, let’s go get’em sours for your mum.”

Freya waves happily at her dad while they walk down the stairs. Isak sure hopes Even will not look as sad when they get back with the groceries.

When they get outside, Freya is running towards the playground. 

“Freya, come here!” He looks kind of resigned after her. “We have to go to the store!”  
“Can’t we play a little bit? Please?”

“Afterwards? Let’s finish shopping first, then you can play a bit when we get back? I am sure your mum and dad want their stuff as soon as possible.”

Reluctantly Freya leaves the swing. “I want chocolate, too.”

“We’ll see. It’s not Saturday today.”

“But mum is getting sour jelly.”

“I bet she didn’t have any sweets last Saturday.”

“Dad had chocolate this morning.”

“He did?”

“Yes. But I didn’t get any.”

“He didn’t offer you any?”

“No, he just ate it superfast when I asked about it. Like this.” She is is blowing her cheeks and pretending to munch chocolate. Isak laughs at her. “That’s not very nice of your dad. What about you get a small chocolate and we get dad something healthy. Does he like carrots?”

She shakes her head. “He hates them. But he likes brussel sprouts.” She frowns. “Those small cabbages are icky.”

Isak smiles. “I like them too. Have you ever tasted them fried in butter and then mixed with small pieces of bacon?”

“With bacon?”

“Yeah, you like bacon?”

“Sure. I have it with pancakes.”

“Everything gets better with bacon, you know.”

“Everything?”

“ _Almost_ everything.”

“Blueberry muffins, too?”

Isak ponders for a second. “Maybe not that. But almost everything.” But who knows, maybe it’s good. He will try it. It will be nice to try a new recipe, baking has become kind of routine recently.

“One time I lost the ladle into the pancake batter and then I tipped the bowl and there was batter everywhere like a river running from the counter.” Freya flails her arms as if to mimic a river.

“What did dad say then?”

“He was tired and slept. Thor was going to make dinner, but he was just going to play a _little bit more_.” She accentuates the words and makes a face. “We tried to clean up, but when mum came she was angry at Thor for making such a mess.”

“But it wasn’t his fault? Did you tell her?”

“No. I didn’t want her to be angry at me.” He voice is innocent.

“But was it fair that Thor was accused of it?”

“Mum was already angry at him. No need for her to be angry at both of us, was it?”

Isak can’t deny her logic.

“But mummy loves me. She says so every day. She is not living with us. She has a flat somewhere else. I don’t remember what it is called there. But we go there every other weekend. But not recently. Because of that corona virius. It is a flu virius. It means you cough and have snot and icky slime. Mom has it now. I hope she has not infected us with it. I haven’t been inside her room, but yesterday I sang to her from outside the door. Dad made me clean my hands afterwards, but I didn’t touch anything. But my hands are sore. Look.”

She holds her hand towards Isak. The skin is dry and she has pink cracks along the knuckles and on her thumbs. 

“Ouch. Does it hurt?”

She shrugs. “Not that much. Only when dad makes me use hand disinfectant. It stinks and stings, it rhymes, do you hear that? Stinks and stings, stings and stinks.”

“Do you put on ointment?”

“Dad has a cream but it’s so sticky.”

“Yes, but it’s good for your hands.”

“It makes them sting.”

“It’s because they are dry and sore. If you apply cream, they will be better.”

She shakes her head and hides her hands in her pockets. “It stings.”

They walk in silence for a few minutes. The store is about ten minutes away, but he wouldn’t mind more time with Freya. She is curious and running back and forth along the road, jumping and singing, she seems happy to be outside. Isak can’t blame her. Her day must have been boring when everything used to revolve around school and then when the schools closed, and there was suddenly nothing and on top of that, she was trapped inside. 

Not really trapped, of course, after all lockdown in Norway was mild compared to other countries. Isak has a colleague in Madrid, she and her wife and their toddler were trapped inside their small downtown three-room flat now. She had called it a perfect urban spot when they moved there last summer, but now it was a new kind of hell. And her wife didn’t cope well either, she has some mental illness and hasn’t been able to stick to her routines nor seen her therapist in weeks now.

“Dad loves me too. But he doesn’t love mum. Or he loves her, but only like he loves me and Thor. Not like a girlfriend. He hasn’t kissed her for _ages._ ”   
“For ages?”

“Many years!”

“How old _are_ you actually, Freya?” he asks with a giggle.

“I am six. I will be seven in September. But dad hasn’t kissed mom since I was in daycare. Not in the daycare I was in before school, but in the other one. Because if you are kissing someone you have to be in the same bed as them and mom isn’t in dad’s bed because me and Thor are there.”

“Do you kiss dad then?” He hears when the question slips his lips how weird it sounds.

Freya looks at him with a shocked face. “We don’t kiss like THAT!”

Isak doesn’t say anything more until they get to the store. It’s surprisingly busy with people seemingly everywhere, and suddenly he regrets not bringing a face mask and gloves, despite nobody else using it. At least he brought hand disinfectant, and he applies it on his own hands before offering it to Freya. She looks reluctantly at him before holding her hands to him, making a painful face when she spreads it on the back of her hands. 

“Sorry,” Isak says. “You could have washed them instead,” he apologizes with a nod towards the sink by the recycling station.

He tries to walk them as fast as he can through the store. Isak regrets not going to the other supermarket. There would probably have been less people there, he thinks, not being in the middle of the suburb, next to the metro station. But now he’d better make the best out of it.

“Can I have grapes please? I love crispy red grapes!” She begs, making puppy eyes at him.

“Of course,” he says with a shrug and grabs a box of blueberries as well. If Even doesn’t want them, he can make blueberry muffins. He should pick up some bacon, too.

As they pass the baking shelves he quickly scans them like he usually does. The shelf with regular flour is empty, as is his favourite coarse wheat flour. And every kind of yeast is sold out. He shrugs. It doesn’t matter, he has his sourdough starter, and loads of flour, enough for Thor’s baking, too. It’s like when the stores were out of butter just before Christmas several years ago. Newspapers ran self-help articles about using oil and low-fat substitutes for weeks before a children’s television show had a spot about how to shake cream to butter.

When they enter the sweet aisle, Freya’s steps slow down. She looks at the chocolates and then at Isak. “Can I have a chocolate?”

He smiles at her. “A small one.”

“This?” She points at a slightly smaller version of the large bars.

“Freya,” Isak laughs at her. “I am pretty sure you know what is a large and what is a small chocolate.”

She rolls her eyes and turns towards the shelf with the smaller bars. “This one, then,” she mutters.

“Yup.” Isak smiles again. “Grab one for Thor as well. Do you know what he likes? And one more for yourself so we have something to eat on the way home as well?”

Her face lightens up and she quickly grabs a liquorice chocolate bar and one filled with caramel. “This one is mine,” she says, clinging to the caramel bar. It will be quite sticky once they get to the cashier, Isak thinks.

“Thor has great taste,” he mutters and grabs a liquorice bar for himself too.

“Dad and Thor have weird taste,” Freya says. “This chocolate is salty, not sweet.” She scrunches her nose while doing quick steps in front of the shelf. 

“So dad likes it too, huh?” Isak laughs.

“He loves it. He eats it all the time.”

“So that was what he was eating this morning when he denied you chocolate?”

“No, then he was out of it. I wouldn’t have asked him for it if it was liquorice.” Freya looks concentrated, Isak notices.

Isak adds a few more bars to his cart, and grabs some bags of the sour jellymen Sonja craves.

“Anything more we need here?” he asks Freya. “Except _everything_ ,” he adds to himself.

Suddenly he is aware Freya is making a little dance and bites her lower lip while pressing her knees together. “I need to pee.”

“There is a toilet by the exit. You can go before we go home.”

“I need to go now!” She sounds desperate.

“Can’t you wait until we’re done here?” He already knows the answer.  
“No!”

Isak sighs frustrated. Two minutes. If she only could wait two minutes. He tries to imagine the way through the store. It’s pretty straight forward to the cashiers, just in the next aisle, but they still haven’t bought any drinks. “Are you sure you can’t wait?”

“I am almost peeing my pants,” Freya squeals.

A middle aged woman slows down at the end of the aisle. She frowns and seems to be about to say something.

Isak quickly turns to Freya. “Ok, we will leave the cart here and hopefully it will still be here when we get back.”

“Dad also just leaves the cart. Sometimes he doesn’t come back for it. Not when he has to go to the bathroom. One time he spent forever inside there. Like an hour. Thor called him and dad said we should just go home, he just couldn’t pee, he said, so we shouldn’t wait. But it sounded like he was crying. And he came home without the food and no sweets and just went straight to bed.”

“I think the cart will still be here when we get back. You won’t spend an hour in the bathroom, will you?”

“No, I will pee superfast. Like a waterfall. Wooosh!” She makes a painful grimace again and looks almost pale. “Oh. Now I really need to pee, Isak!” She looks around in panic.

Isak rushes through the store with Freya in tow. He bumps into a woman studying boxes of grapes, _doesn’t she know she should only touch what she intends to buy_ , it races through his mind. Freya’s hand is tight in his grip, but he doesn’t want to turn around to look at her. He suddenly gets vivid memories of his mum yelling at him for peeing his pants when he was a kid and didn’t want to pee on the grass in the park.

“Here is the bathroom, Freya. Are you ok with going inside there alone?”

“Yes, I am a big girl!” she says. “But can you watch the door for me?”

“Sure.”

Luckily the bathroom visit is quite uneventful. He can hear her long-time peeing through the slot under the door, then he hears low humming while the water is running and she is apparently washing her hands. He smiles to himself, Lisa had told him about which song she uses to sing while washing up and he had found a simple poster generator for her where she could add the text of her favourite music for a hand-cleaning song. Freya sounds simpler, though, he could hear her humming the tune of Happy birthday through the door.

Their cart is in the aisle by the sweets, just where they left it. Freya seems to ponder over it, scratching her chin. “Try not to touch your face,” Isak mutters, while checking the list Even gave him to see if they have forgotten anything.

“Can we buy another chocolate?” Freya asks. Her eyes seem so big when she looks up at him. 

“More chocolate? Isn’t that enough?” He looks at the bars on top of the cart.

“Mum likes that almond bar.” She points at one of the large bars.

“Mum?”

“Yes? Can we?” 

“Eh, yes, sure. But didn’t she want the jellymen?” he asks a bit confused, while pointing at the three bags he has already thrown in.

“But she loves chocolate.” Freya’s lower lip is shivering.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, let’s buy them,” he says quickly, hoping to cheer her up. If Even wonders why he bought them, he can just keep them himself.

On the way to the cashier he picks up some beer and soda, and grabs a box of strawberry scented hand cream from the hygiene department, before they end up in front of the ice cream freezer.

“Do you want one?” he asks Freya.

She lightens up. “Yes please! Can you lift me up so I can check what they have?”

After a few seconds she promptly tells him that she only likes the large cone ice cream here.

“Not krone-is?” Isak asks, pointing at the regular-sized cones.

She shakes her head. “Only the big one.”

Isak sighs. “Ok. But don’t get sick then.”

“I never get sick from ice cream!”

The cashier is the extrovert kind. She is nice and amicable and smiles at them both. “Your dad has really bought a lot of sweets for you,” she cheers at Freya below her violet bangs. “Homeschooling is hard, I have heard,” she adds with a wink at Isak.

“He is not my dad!” Freya protests. “Dad would never buy me this many sweets!”

Isak sighs with a smile. “Neighbour’s kid. I shop for her father and thought I could just bring her, too.”

The clerk gets a serious face. “He father is not sick, is he?”

“Oh, no no, he… he just couldn’t go shopping today.”

“Can I have the ice cream now?” Freya tries to climb the conveyor belt.

“Sure.” The cashier’s smile is back. “That’ll be 968 kroner.”

Isak taps his card and starts packing everything into bags. Freya is sitting on the shelf next to him licking her ice cream.

“So dad wouldn’t buy you all these sweets, would he?” he mutters with a smile at her.

“Nope.” She jumps down. “And he wouldn’t let me have this ice cream either,” she laughs.

Isak just rolls his eyes. Kids. Manipulative angels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No red wine for Isak, obviously. Well, more for us, then. (Isak can keep the overhyped sourdough to himself, though.)
> 
> Thanks for the comments, keep'em coming, we'll drink a sip for each of them!


	9. ISAK and EVEN

In the evening he is watching some mindblowingly dull show on Netflix when he hears the soft knocking on his door again. 

His stomach immediately feels weird and then every butterfly in close vicinity seems to be in there along with some feathers, and it feels like everything is jolting inside him. The tickling spreads to the tips of his fingers and through his crotch to his toes, and his face goes from normal to warm to cold and back again in a second.

It could be anyone, be any neighbour, he thinks, not wanting to raise his expectations too high. Anyone living in the building, maybe the student next door wants to borrow his printer, she does that from time to time, or someone needs flour if the stores are out of it. Pandemic baking has taken off and they obviously know he is baking, the smells coming from his apartment on an almost daily basis, it can’t really be hidden.

Isak takes a deep breath before grabbing the door handle and pushing it down before opening the door. He is bracing himself for the student. For the couple upstairs. Even for Mrs Olsen, although he doesn't really think she’d walk past the floor below to ask him for something, and she has his phone number, too.

The tall man in front of him almost makes him breathless. His tight jeans, the washed-out t-shirt, the wet hair. He can’t stop the giggle coming out of his mouth when he sees his feet.

“At least you’re wearing socks tonight,” he laughs. Even is wearing one black and yellow Batman-sock and one mint green sock with small neon pink triangles of watermelon.

Even lets out a dry laugh. “Well, yes, I guess so. Even if I didn’t find two identical ones, it seems.” He frowns down at his feet. “But I‘m not quite sure why I picked these. They kind of… don't look like a pair.”

“Well, they are a pair, I’d say,” Isak says. “And I guess you have another similar pair?”

“Huh?” Even looks confused at him for a minute, before realizing Isak’s joke. “Idiot.” He laughs. “Maybe I should just leave. Take my beer and go home.” He heaves the bag dangling from his hand.

“Oh? Beer? Come inside!” Isak laughs and opens the door fully.

“Technically you brought it yourself,” Even chuckles. “So I hope it’s something you fancy. Thanks for shopping for me, by the way. Saved the day. And the night for the kids. Freya loves the hand cream.”

“Oh, it was nothing. And I don’t care about beer. I drink everything.”

“So… pandrinker, then?”

“Maybe drinking is where I am pan and you are the homo? Quite selective in what you want.”

“What! Are you saying I am not fussy when it comes to people?”

Isak blushes. “I didn’t mean it  _ that _ way…”

“You’re cute when you blush.”

And then Isak’s face feels even warmer.

“But can I come in?” Suddenly Even looks more serious. 

“Yes, of course!” Isak steps aside to let him in. The whiff of Even’s scent as he passes makes his skin tickle.

“Just tell me if I should leave,” Even says with a serious face.

“Why would I do that?” Isak answers, hoping he doesn't sound like an idiot .

“I don’t know,” Even shrugs. “I don’t want to impose, but Sonja has got a visitor and it felt kind of awkward staying there,” he mutters as they walk towards the living room.

“Ok?”

“A colleague. Or her lover. Pick any.”

“Her lover? Wow.”

“Yeah. He was sick before her, for all I know he was the one who infected her.” Even puts the beers on the table before bumping down on the sofa. “Anyway, he called her earlier today and wanted to see her, and since he is immune and everything I couldn’t say no. After all she needs to see… her loved ones?”

“She is with her loved ones,” Isak protests as he sits down in the opposite corner of the sofa.

“Well, the kids, but…” Even shrugs. “I love her, but not like Thomas does, I guess.”

“And he is well? He can’t infect the kids?”

“No, he has no symptoms and has been in quarantine and all, he is a doctor at Ahus, at another department, and he has been back at work for two days. So all is well. He even asked the city’s center for disease control and prevention if he could see his girlfriend and he got permission.” Even takes a large sip of his beer.

Isak studies him. “Are you sad?”

Even shrugs. “No, I am not sad. I mean, Sonja and me were over and done with several years ago, and we are just friends, but it was kind of surprising when she told me tonight that he wanted to see her.”

“It sounds...good.” Isak says, wondering what is actually good about divorces and ex lovers and ex whatevers. “But I can see it being weird having the new partner around, especially when it is your home.”

“It used to be ours. Sonja moved out. It was our first flat after we married. When things were good and I thought we would be together forever.”

“Everyone thinks that. Then life goes on and you realize that, nothing lasts forever.”

“Really?”

“My dad moved out when I was a teenager. Cheated on mum and anyway, mum was unwell, and I can kind of understand what happened now, looking back. But when I was a kid, I hated them both. Hated that they smashed up our family and just walked away. I moved out when I was 17. Couldn’t stay in the house any longer.”

“I hope the kids don’t remember us breaking up. It was a horrible awful incredibly difficult couple of weeks. The kids were tiny and I was...I was not in a good place.”

“Breaking up does that to you.”

“Suppose.”

  
  


“Anyway, cheers.” Isak has opened his beer and sighs when the bitter taste of the beer hits his taste buds. 

“Drinking on a Tuesday!” Even laughs. “Quarantine slobs.”

Isak shrugs. “Every day is a day, what’s the difference?”

“Well, tomorrow is a work day.”

Isak lifts an eyebrow at him. “Aren’t you working from home?”

“Yes?”

“In your own company? Do you have a schizophrenic boss who cares about when you get to work?” Isak giggles. 

Even squints for a moment, when he winks. “You’ve been stalking me?” he laughs.

Isak blushes. “Well…”

“You have!”

“I was just curious about why you didn't want me to know where you work,” Isak mumbles. Then he straightens up. “But why is that wrong? Why didn’t you want me to know, I mean?”

Even blushes and mutters something unintelligible while looking down at his beer.

“Hey, you are not ashamed, are you? Jeez.” He shakes his head. “Why would that be? I have seen your porn. It’s nothing to be ashamed of! It’s hot and steamy and sexy and like another view into your mind….”

Even hides his face in his hands. “I don’t want to know about it!”

It occurs to Isak that he doesn’t want to know about it either.

“I don’t write the scripts. I just make the story flow and continuity fit…”

“And you make it look good.”

“It’s not so much about how it looks. It has to look a certain way to make people feel….good.”

“You mean, it’s your job to make sure the viewer gets hot and...horny?” 

Isak slides down on the sofa as his body becomes softer and his voice more slurred. He tells himself he is in control of his muscles, and that he can sit with his spine straight and his feet on the floor and the back towards the upholstery. It’s just more comfortable to relax like this. Sit sideways with his back towards the armrest and his arm along the back of the sofa, knees bent, foot soles resting on the middle cushion. The beer helps. Softens his defences a little.

For some funny reason Even seems to mimic his position. Isak slides his left foot slowly forward, letting it occupy a section of Even’s part of the cushion. It’s clearly divided by an invisible line along the middle, and his heel is about to cross it now. Isak follows his foot’s slow movement along the cushion with his eyes, and is fascinated by Even’s foot doing the same few seconds later. He lets the food turn a little, first to the left, then to the right, like an off-piste skier going down a slope.

His toes hits Even’s foot. It’s warm and hard and tender, pushing towards his as if he wants it to move. “Your foot is in the way,” he laughs, without any sign of trying to move it. 

“No, yours is in the way,” Even answers, tickling the inside of his ankle.

Isak bends forward and grabs Even’s leg. For a moment he thinks he is about to push it away, but his body still has some sensibility and makes sure he pulls the leg toward him, settling it in his crotch instead.

With a content sigh he leans back and closes his eyes. His hands are holding Even’s leg, his fingers are moving in slow strokes across the soft jean fabric. Isak can feel his muscles moving under his fingertips as Even sits up and grabs his hand. Reluctantly he lets of the jeans with one hand, but keeps a fistful of fabric in his other hand. It is as if he has to hold tight in order not to fall off the sofa again, his soft body is sliding again, but somehow in the opposite direction this time, or perhaps it’s Even who is sliding. Isak isn’t sure anymore, they are getting closer, their limbs seem to grind towards each other, and he thinks he can feel Even’s warm stomach against his hand as he sits up and moves to grab on to something else.

His arms are around Even now, his palm is cupping his shoulder, the other hand his cheek. The short hairs are soft and hard under his thumb, and his body knows what to do now. He bends forward while pulling Even towards himself, his blue eyes are coming closer and start to fill the entire horizon in front of him now. They are blue like the sky on a sunny day, or an open ocean, but darker towards the middle, like an evening in the summer, before the night has hit the middle, filled with small dots of stars, from the lights above their head, like stardust or sparkles, and then he kisses him and his lips are so soft and wet and he opens for him and their lips meet, soft and slow, then faster, harder, eager. Even is pulling softly at his hair, and Isak moans as his chest is pressed against Even, his lips are trailing along his neck, kissing that tender spot next to the clavicle, making a wet path over the skin, a path that makes him freeze and sweat and shiver and want more.

“Fuck fuck fuck.” 

Suddenly Even is at the other end of the sofa. He looks upset, his face is full of red flashes and his hair is ruffled and untidy. He is sitting on his knees breathing heavily while wiping his hand furiously against his mouth.

“Isak, we can’t do this! It’s insane! It’s dangerous! We should keep our distance, you have to wash your mouth, rinse it with alcohol, do you have any proper vodka here? Oh my god, what have we done, what if you gets sick from me? What if I am infected and I transfer it to you and we both get sick? I wasn’t feeling too well today, I coughed once or twice yesterday and I have been supertired recently, I am probably about to get sick!” Even gets up and runs into the kitchen. Isak can hear him turn on the water, then sloshing and spitting sounds, and at last the sound of water running, the well known sound of hands being soaped and rinsed and soaped and rinsed again.

“I am sorry, Isak,” is the last thing Isak hears before he the door closes and everything is dark and silent.

“STOP!” Isak’s voice is almost like a hiss. Like he is trying not to shout, but not quite managing to control the volume of his voice. “Even!” He’s quite obviously trying to whisper, as his footfall thunders down the staircase behind him.

Even should speak. Shout back to leave him alone. Slam his own door shut right in the arrogant twat’s face. Instead he just stops dead and let’s his forehead come to a rest against the cool concrete wall of the stairwell, right outside his own door. 

“Even. I’m sorry.” Isak whispers from somewhere behind him. “I’m sorry, it was me, all on me, my stupid stupid head and I….I like you. I mean, you’re the hottest bloke I have ever seen, you look at me and I go all stupid, and I mean more stupid than after half a glass of wine. You make my head spin, and all my sense goes out the window. I like you. You talk to me, like, you make me laugh. You make me smile. I just….I’m sorry. I know you don’t feel like that back, and I… I was just hoping it could be real. I know it’s not. I know I have no chance in hell with you, but I...I don’t know.”

The silence is deafening. Thundering through Even’s head like a juggernaut truck. He’s been run over already, he should just admit defeat and lie himself down on the ground. Right here in the stairwell. 

“I’m not hot.” He whispers instead. “I’m a middle aged confused loser who most of the time manages to keep his life functioning to the point that people perceive I’m normal.”

“Fuck other people,” Isak mutters. 

Even doesn’t dare to look. Doesn’t dare to breathe. Just stands there. No doubt getting a nice imprint from the wall on his forehead. His eyes closed. His breath laboured. His head is a mess. He doesn’t even know what to say back. He could think of a hundred snarky comebacks including some inappropriate ones about fucking other people, but right now, none of them seem to be able to make their way out of his mouth. 

“Fuck other peoples perceptions. None of that shit matters. Do you think it matters? Do you think anyone cares about the middle aged nerd who lives above you? Do you think I care what they think? Do you think I care if I disturb the entire block of flats right now? I don’t. I care about the fact that I finally found someone that I like. Someone I like to hang out with. Someone who let’s me make him a stupid coffee and then he makes fun of me. Someone who brings me a drink late at night because he doesn’t want to be alone, and he chooses me to keep him company. You chose me. And that’s fucking mindblowing for someone like me.”

“What do you mean, someone like me?” At least Even is speaking. Where that came from, he can’t quite explain.

“Someone like... me,” Isak stutters out. “I’m not a social butterfly, I’m a bloody nerd, I’m not hip, nor fun, and I’m fucking grumpy and I like my own company and I just want to be left alone to live my life.”

“Then you fucking don’t need me,” Even mutters.

“Biscuits, Even,” Isak says. Then he lets out a tiny giggle.

“Fuck off.”

“No, I won’t.”

“You should. This will never end well. Just go back home, leave me and my fucking mess to myself. Go live your life.”

“So bloody overdramatic. Fuck off Even. Just fuck off. I like you. I really like you. I know you’re not gay, and I tried to make a pass at you, and that was out of order and I apologize. OK? BUT… BUT….” 

He’s frustrated. Tugging at his hair and shuffling around, sat on the bottom step with his head in his hands, as Even finally turns around. Dares to look. 

“I’m lonely. OK?”

The words come out an actual whisper. Just a soft hiss in the quiet stairwell. Then the lights go off, and Even fumbles around for the light switch. 

“We can’t stay here. We’ll wake everyone up,” he deflects. Because this is a conversation he’s not prepared for. Not his thing. Heart to hearts with a near stranger, who is clearly harbouring a crush on him. Which is something Even’s brain is struggling to comprehend. 

“You left,” Isak mutters. 

“I have a very nice home. Right in here. On the other side of this door, I have a very nice living room with a nice sofa. I also have my own bed, inside my very nice apartment. It’s just that my home is currently occupied by my highly infectious ex-wife, her lover and my two children. They are supposed to be in bed, but I can hear them giggling. The sheer fact, that they are all together, probably all sat on my sofa, makes me want to throw up and then grab my steam cleaner and clean the shit out of my apartment. But I can’t. Instead I am standing here, trying to run away from the guy upstairs, who plays the worst guitar riffs in the history of guitar playing, and also…. I don’t even know what to think right now. So Isak, will you please tell me what to do before I have a nervous breakdown?”

“It doesn’t matter. That shit doesn’t matter right now. Your kids are home, and safe. Right?”

“Safe as shit.”

“Your ex wife is a doctor. Her dude...doctor?”

“Yeah.”

“Highly trained professionals. I couldn’t think of anyone else I would choose to care for my kids, so I can have a late night walk.”

“Walk?”

“We’re going for a walk. Outside. Away from here.”

“I’m not wearing shoes.”

“Neither am I. Shit. Ok. Let’s go outside.” 

“Biscuits,” Even mutters. 

“Out. Now, Even.”

“Bloody bossy.”

“Told you. I am not a social butterfly, but, I am a project manager and a natural leader in the workplace. I get people to do shit I want them to do. Right now I want you outside, and we are going to go in the fucking sandpit and sit on the swings with our bare feet in the sand and fucking talk this out.”

“I’m not surprised that you are single.” Even can’t help it. Fucking hell.

“See? You are very perceptive yourself. I am a total shit when I want to be. I can also be bossy as fuck. I have already told you, I am not romantic or soft or affectionate. It’s not me.”

“Liar,” Even hisses, as he pushes the front door open, letting the cold spring air hit his bare arms. 

“Shit. Colder than I thought,” Isak mutters.

“We’re still doing this?”

“Yes. Outside. Peace and quiet. There will be nobody that we will disturb, and Mrs Olsen won’t be standing by her letterbox trying to listen in to every word we are saying.”

“Mrs Olsen will be in bed.”

“Mrs Olsen watches late night sports, she told me. Look, her light is still on, and the TV is flickering in the back there.”

He’s right as well. The little shit.

“Tis’ cold.” Even hugs his bare arms. Blowing out his breath in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. 

“We had a perfectly good apartment up there, but you had to piss off and run away.”

“You kissed me,” Even says, almost triumphantly. Like he had forgotten, and just remembered. Which is a lie. Because that kiss? It’s thrown him for a loop. Again. Because it was a kiss? Wasn’t it? Or did he just dream that up in his head?

“Yes, and I apologize. Again. I read you wrong, and yeah. You are kind of beautiful. Intense, and a bit scatty, but you are bloody honest and straight up and I like that. I like people like you, who speak to me like I am human and treat me like I matter. I like you. I know I keep saying it, but yeah. That’s why. And I will get over it, but for fucks sake, Even. Be my friend. OK? Hang with me. Tease me, all the fuck you like. Call me names. Tell everyone that I once tried to kiss you and you will never let me forget that little faux-pas. Or whatever.”

“Stop bloody apologizing.”

“Sorry.”

Even just glares at him. The man. This Isak. Someone Even has barely got to know, but who has saved him from going completely crazy over the last couple of weeks. Someone who, is, and Even has to think hard about that. Isak is his friend. His friend. 

“You’re my friend.”

“I bloody hope so.”

He can barely look at him now, the man. His strong jaw. Piercing green eyes. Messy blonde curls all over his head. Thin lips that curl at the edges. Crooked teeth. A smile that could melt polar caps. 

“Shall we go sit on that bench?” 

“I’d rather just stand here, out of the wind.”

“So...You want me to give you all my big revelations about myself to you, standing in the doorway to our apartment block. In the wind in the middle of the night, underneath Mrs Olsen's window. Smart, Isak. Very romantic.”

“Twat.” Isak mutters. “Told you I’m not romantic.”

“I think you are. You were trying to get me to sit in the sandbox with no socks on, so you could convince me to be your boyfriend or something.”

“Bullshit. I just ….”

“I’m going to take off my socks, and walk barefoot over into the sandpit and sit on the swings. Feet in the sand.”

“The sand is probably full of rubbish and broken glass and shit.”

“No it’s not. You suggested it. Let’s do it.”

He’s doing it again. Being impulsive. Over the top. Dragging another human being across the grass, none of them wearing jackets, or shoes. Like two lunatics. 

“You’re mad,” Isak laughs.

“If you only knew.”

“I need to stop telling you that I like you, but I like you anyway. Despite the madness.”

“I have two kids and an ex-wife. Madness comes with the territory.”

“I still like you.”

“I can’t bake. Can’t play an instrument or sing. I like red wine. My favorite film is probably something you have never heard of.”

“You have to try harder. I still like you.”

“I had my first breakdown at 17. Got admitted and everything. Wasn’t a good time. I thought it was a good idea to express my fucked up ideas in a mural in the school canteen. At night. With spraypaint. I’m not much of an artist. I got arrested too. Wasn’t my finest moment.”

“We all do stupid things when we are kids,” Isak replies. Not missing a beat.

“I got admitted to the Psych ward once and have been on antidepressants most of my adult life. Don’t get me wrong, I live a pretty normal life, especially with Sonja keeping an eye on me.”

“You don’t have to tell me all this.”

“I do, because this is who I am. I get very nervous about changes in my routines. I am constantly on edge thinking I am on the verge of another disaster. I get depressed. I get anxious easily. I get high on new ideas. I can’t work when I am not stable, because the quality of my work suffers. I am stable, most of the time. But when I am not? People walk away. Sonja loves me, but she couldn’t take it. The kids? I drive them mad. My friends distance themselves, because I am either off the rails, or working too hard making porn. See? I am not your ideal candidate for a long lasting friendship, and I am not the guy you want to have a relationship with, whatever your intentions are.”

“Do you really think I’d walk away?” 

“Everyone walks away. Sooner or later.”

“I just told you. I am lonely. I am always fucking lonely. Then I meet this amazing guy who makes me laugh and he lets me hang with him, and he drinks my coffee and laughs at my juvenile jokes. Do you think I would walk away, just because you are trying to tell me that you are not always a bundle of laughs? Because you have problems? Because you are not always well, and your life isn’t a romance novel?”

“I don’t read romance novels.”

“Neither do I, but what the fuck has that got to do with the fact, that I like you? That we are friends and we need to be friends, because we are neighbours, and sometimes, and I say, sometimes I think you and I just need to hang and sit down and say  _ fuck all this _ . Fuck all the expectations and shit. I like you. Please just let me sit here and feel like things are a little bit better than they actually are.”

“We’re sitting here now,” Even says softly, kicking his last sock off his feet. Letting his toes dig into the sand as he takes a tentative swing. It’s a child's swing, and the metal frame creaks under his weight, as Isak sits down on the swing next to him.

“We are,” is all Isak says back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Friends, then. An sandbox and swings. Another trope we should visit, isn't it, "playground meeting"? At least when we can't turn this into a coffee shop meeting.
> 
> Forget about the kissing and the porn and the wet dreams and wet fantasies. Maybe they are just that, fantasies?


	10. EVEN

## 10 Even

It’s days later, and to be honest? Even has lost count. One day is just running into another, and the ball of angst in his stomach has subsided into a dull ache of something he sometimes mistakes for longing. 

Some days he is fine. Feeling a little bit stupid about how he behaved. Because he had acted like a silly teen with a crush, and almost let another man kiss him, and make it sound like it would be a good idea to take it further. Maybe it would have been. Maybe he should have kissed Isak back. Maybe he should have put his hands on his shoulders and pulled him towards him and felt his lips against his own and… Maybe. Maybe and then who knows what would have happened.

Other days he descends into the darkness where he wonders if he can ever climb back out into the light. He still can’t stop thinking about that evening. The night he… messed up. It makes him feel even worse to think about the stupid things he said. Told him about his mental problems. The breakdown. The mania. Who would want anyone like him. When people know that about him, they usually run. Fast. And if they can’t run fast enough, he should be the one running instead, so they don’t accidentally end up in charge of him. Nobody deserves that. 

Sometimes he thinks everyone would be better off without him. Then he thinks about his children and knows he will have to let them grow up first, because no kid should have to bury their father even if he is completely useless. They have spent too long with him now. They had all started to get on each other's nerves. Yelling and crying, there were tears and slamming with doors, and the aggression just spread between them. Some afternoons they seemed to take turns to let out most aggression. At least he doesn’t hit them. He has never done that. And he tries, always tries, not to tell them things he shouldn’t. He may be angry and yell, but he has never projected his worthlessness at them. 

Isak must have heard them. Even can just imagine what he will think about them. Isak’s own poor guitar skills are just a minor inconvenience compared to the pandemonium from Even’s apartement. 

And sometimes he thinks back to the magic of the night at the sandbox. The feeling of sand between his toes. The relaxing movement in the swing. The closeness to Isak. Maybe he should have done more? Should he have kissed Isak back? 

Then they had sat there like idiots freezing their nipples off in the cold air, with no socks on in the filthy sand and once Mrs Olsen had started twitching her curtains, they had skulked back inside, called it a night and Even hasn’t seen Isak since. He thinks he sometimes hears him upstairs, which a lot of the time is a strange kind of comfort mixed up with anxious thoughts that he struggles to control. 

He thinks Isak once came down and stood outside his door, then chickened up and tiptoed back upstairs. Well, that is what Even _thinks_ he heard. It was probably that student upstairs who was doing her stair step exercises. She did that once and Thor caught her in the act. 

Then Freya and Thor had almost broken their necks trying to do gymnastics on the stairs until Even had put a firm stop to that. 

No, every day is the same. Get up. Check on Sonja. Get the school work done. Feed the kids. Sometimes eat a proper meal himself, but usually he feeds on slices and pieces while leaning at the kitchen counter or running back and forth to fetch water or napkins or ketchup or any other item the children honestly should be old enough to get themselves. 

Yesterday Sonja finally left to go back home and spent the day sanitizing her own apartment, and preparing for the kids to return. She picked them up less than 15 minutes ago and he already dreads having just himself for company. Then he remembers shouting at Thor and whining at Freya’s childish games and the next second he has his own head in his hands, berating himself for being mean and stupid, when he had so little time left with them. 

They are spending the next week with Sonja, and he is getting them back for the weekend. Then they should be back on schedule, he hopes. Sonja had muttered something about wanting time with Thomas. Grown up time, and time to reconnect. Like he didn’t need time to reconnect with the kids after having had Sonja staying with them for what seems like years, when it was only a few weeks. Then having Thomas around, it made him feel even more of an idiot, and on top of that? He had developed this stupid friendship with the neighbour upstairs, and then… Now what? 

Everything feels empty now. The apartment. The bed. The hallway clear of stray shoes. The kitchen doesn’t even feel like his home, all polished and clean with Sonja’s small touches of homely design. He can’t even remember owning the bowl she has placed on the worktop, or where the chopping board has come from. It has probably been stuck at the back of a cupboard for years. He is all alone and despite having longed for solitude and silence for weeks now, it feels like a surreal nightmare, the kind that draws your air and leaves you exhausted when you wake up. Except he never fell asleep first.

Isak is probably avoiding him, just as much as Even dreads having to go down to the laundry room. Sonja put the last load in before leaving, and Even just has to go down and pick it up. Which means he probably has a 1% chance of running into Isak. A chance he is not willing to take, because whilst he knows nothing happened that he should be ashamed about? He is not sure what it meant. He is not sure if he wants more, or if the fire in his belly is just a warning sign to step away. Regroup. Get his life back together. 

He should make himself a coffee, and go sit in his office and try to untangle the footage that he should have been working on this week. It’s a standard cut scene, 2 hours of tape to be cut down to a 10 minute epic, guaranteed to make the viewer orgasm within the first couple of minutes, and watch the rest in blissful afterglow. 

That’s what he enjoys doing himself, when he does watch porn. He rarely does, too obsessed with watching the angles and cuts to get himself immersed in arousal. Because he does get aroused. The thought of Isak strangely makes him aroused. But then he has to stop himself and think clearly. Because how would that work? They would just drill a hole in the ceiling, combine their lives and live happily ever after, climbing a ladder in the kitchen between their two lives? It sounds like something that Freya would come up with, and for a moment the thought makes him smile.

He should be getting on with work, instead he goes for a shower, ignoring his urge to have a wank. He needs to be sharp. Clever. Not impulsive and stupid. 

His bathrobe is on the side of the shower, freshly washed, the whole apartment smelling strangely of a heady mix of chlorine, air freshener and soap. Sonja was thorough, he has to admit to that. She had cleaned like a mad woman, laundering soft toys and bedding, spraying antibacterial disinfectant around like it was free money. Now he doesn’t want to sit down anywhere. Nothing smells right. Nothing feels like home, everything nice and tidy and too clean for Even’s liking. 

It hits him that he just wants something to feel normal. In all this, he needs something homely and safe. He is spiralling, he can feel it. The anxiety building like a cloud in his head, everything around him slowing down, and becoming insignificantly dulled. He can’t concentrate. His energy levels are way down. He sleeps, then wakes up feeling even more tired than he was the night before, his life a constant groundhog day of ups and downs.

There is some of Thor’s last batch of bread sitting on the counter, and he cuts himself a thick slice, and smothers it in butter. It still doesn’t settle the rumbling in his stomach. Flicking through Netflix just makes him nervous and sad, realizing how many shows he could have been watching, and wants to watch. He just can’t settle. Too much work hanging over his head. Too many unanswered emails. Too much for his head to handle. 

If the kids had been here, he would have cuddled up with them on the sofa, ordered a takeaway and celebrated his newfound freedom. Having his home back, and no one to judge his decisions. Now that he has all this freedom? He doesn’t want it. Instead he restlessly wanders around the flat, spilling crumbs on the floor and moodiness in his wake. 

_Lonely_ , Isak had said. He had repeatedly said it, that he was lonely. Always lonely. 

“You are an idiot,” he says out loud. “You are a fucking idiot.” 

He doesn’t even bother with saying anything else. The kids are not here. It’s just him and his miserable self pacing the floor like nobody’s business. He’s a failure, again. He’s just not one of those social types who makes friends and pops around for a beer. He has to go and bring feelings into the mix, and then worry what the other person thinks and then? Then he ends up right back to square one, feeling like a fool.

“Fuck!” He shouts. “Fuckety Fuck FUUUCK.” He feels a little better after that outburst of energy and misdirected anger, as he kicks one of his shoes off the neatly tidied shoe rack. 

There are sudden footsteps outside in the stairwell, loud thumps coming down towards his floor. Then there is a bang on the door. A quick succession of rapps against the wooden door. 

“Even? Even, are you alright?”

He throws the door open before he can stop himself. He should have stopped himself, because of course his annoying fucktard of a neighbour is standing there looking a little dishevelled and very kissable. Which makes Even swear under his breath again, because that is the last thing he should be thinking of. 

“I bought Vbucks today,” he says instead. Totally random, as his brain screams. 

“O-kay,” Isak says, looking a little concerned. 

“You know on your phone, you make sure all these things are in place so the kids can’t buy stuff on your phone? Run up thousands in virtual money and games and stuff? Thor guilt tripped me into letting him have some Battle-pack on Fortnite, and I stupidly agreed. Then it took me two hours of googling to figure out how to bypass my own security and buy that virtual shite myself. Cost me bloody 400 kroner and on top of that? Now I can’t remember how to turn the settings back again. I spent all that money and now I can’t fix it…”

“Even,” Isak says, stepping forward and grabbing his arm.

“Don’t touch me, I could be contagious.” 

“You’re not contagious, your flat smells like a swimming pool, my eyes are watering with all the chlorine in here. And anyway, right now? You are all stressed and rattled and your whole body is shaking over some virtual purchase on your phone that I will fix for you in a second.”

“I can’t find the settings,” Even almost whispers. His voice is about to break.

“Not important. The slider is under “Screentime”, OK? In General. It moved with some update…”

“It’s not that...really.” Even’s voice is now barely there.

“I figured.” Isak’s hand is warm on Even’s arm. “You were kicking stuff and shouting. You do realize that sound travels both ways? I can hear you upstairs, just as well as you can hear me down here. Now where are your kids?”

“Sonja took them home for the week. I now have to be here on my own. I’m snowed under with work, and I haven’t slept properly for weeks. Then every time I close my eyes all I can think of is the ridiculous guy sleeping in the bed above me, and that he kissed me once and I don’t think I can handle all this right now.”

“You can. You see? Because I’m right here.”

“You make me really nervous.” 

“You make me happy. Perhaps that is a good start, whatever this is.” Isak says softly. 

“Can you stay with me for a while? Just sit here and talk to me. I just need to make sense of everything in my head, and right now the world is just spinning, all around me. I need to make it stop, just long enough that I can think straight.”

“I can do that.” Isak says, letting the palm of his hand land heavily on Even’s shoulder. “Now, where is your stash of coffee? I feel a milky latte coming on, heavy on the froth and comforting to the soul.”

“I can’t sleep and you are going to give me coffee?”

“Decaf, baby. I have some upstairs. Will you be ok here for a sec?”

“Baby…” Even mutters, letting his mouth curl into a reluctant smile. 

“I’ll just be a sec.” Isak says, stepping back towards the front door.

“Can I come with you?” Even says, the panic brewing in his chest. “I...I just don’t feel …”

“Come. Bring whatever you need for the night, because you are staying with me for a day or two. You can't stay here, it's like chlorine hell mixed with that cheap nasty air freshener. You will suffocate to death sleeping here. Leave a few windows open overnight, honestly. Phew, it stinks in here! And it’s not like we have anything else to do right now. The kids are with their mum, you are a wreck, and I really need a nice latte. What do you say?”

“A sleepover?”

“Action films, nice company and I’ve got blankets. We’ll veg out on the sofa. Chill. Forget the outside world for a little while. Sounds good?”

“Suppose.” Even whispers back, whilst his heart is beating out of his chest. 

“Even.” Isak says sternly, stepping closer again. His hand landing firmly on Even’s chest. It’s warm, even with the fabric separating their skin. “Don’t think. Just come.”

Even doesn’t answer, just grabs his keys from the sideboard, as Isak leads the way out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the imprompty hiatus, but heatwaves, real life, motherhood, work and random other crap suddenly put a halt to both our creativity, and while we usually are a few chapters ahead of ourselves, we suddenly found that we had run out of finished material to post. So we have needed a few weeks to write more, edit, scrap, and gently negotiate the way we wanted this story to go. Sophia was all about the zombies, Pagni was more going for the serial killer angle.....or something like that. We hope you will enjoy our agreed shared middle ground.....


	11. ISAK and EVEN

##  Isak

Even is exhausted, that’s easy to see as he sits himself down on the edge of the sofa, like he is just staying for a minute or two, ready to bounce out the door with his tail between his legs. Not that Isak is going to let that happen. For once he feels proud of himself. He is handling this like an adult. Being all stern and serious with Even, as he throws a blanket at him, followed by the two cushions from the armchair. 

“Make yourself comfortable. Because you are going to be staying on that sofa for a while.”

“Really?” Even mutters, picking carefully at the loose thread at the corner of the cushion in his arms. 

“Even.” Isak tries again, sitting himself down on the edge of the coffee table, making it creak uncomfortably.

“You are too close.” Even says, looking up. Then lowering his gaze as a blush creeps over his cheeks.

“Fuck this social distancing,” Isak whispers. “Fuck the rules. Fuck all these expectations.” His voice is stronger now. He’s not moving. Not backing down. Not now. 

“Look, I’m not Einstein but I’m not stupid. Look what you have been through in the last month. Full time teacher, daddy, caretaker, foodshopper, no respite, then you moved your ex in, and I can be totally honest here? That alone would have tipped me over the edge. Then? Then the exe’s current...fling..? I mean? Even, seriously. Think about it.” He throws his hands up in the air and shakes his head, because honestly? What had they been thinking? 

“Let me just say, I had my sister and her boyfriend come and stay for a week once, and it nearly drove me insane. They were having their flat redecorated, and they were here, all the time. I couldn’t, you know, breathe. My sister can be judgemental at the best of times, but she hadn’t even sat down before complaining about the smell from the kitchen and the dirt on the windowsill. Then she was planning on installing new window blinds and ordering me furniture by the end of day one, and then? I nearly had a stroke. I haven’t asked her back since. I think the experience may have scarred her for life too. I mean, the blinds didn’t even match anything in here, and I didn’t want or need them. I sent them back and never told her.”

Isak shakes his head again, smiling at the memory. It wasn’t funny then, but they have joked about it. Once. Over the phone. He loves his sister, but he loves her even more when she is safely on the other side of the city far far away from him.

“You’re not into interior design?” Even says, and there is a small hint of a smile.

“Nope. Functional and practical. That’s me. I can see why some people are into it though, and well….” He giggles softly. “My kitchen electronics all match. They are all the same brand and the same shade of cream. Stupid, I know. But I like that they match, even if they don’t match the bloody curtains or whatever.”

“Interior design is quite interesting. It’s vital on film sets, you can’t have sheets or backgrounds too close to the skin tone of the actors. Any props need to be stand out shades. You won’t see many little flesh coloured props, because they don’t show well in the bright light. Black rubber sheets are good, but they have to be the matt ones, as the shiny ones show the reflection of the lighting, and it’s hell to edit out without looking like you are filming on really dirty sheets. All those little things that turn people off. “

“Are we talking about porn again?” Isak giggles.

“...sorry.” Even is hiding his face behind his hands, breathing deeply, clearly trying to compose himself. Even. His Even, because that is what he calls him in his head.

“Don’t apologize. If I had been in your shoes, and if I had done what you have done over the last couple of weeks? I would be a wreck too. Don’t think I can’t see it. You are exhausted, and overwhelmed in every possible way, and I’ve added to it with my… well… I suppose heavy handed flirting.”

“You have been amazing. I don’t think I would have survived this, without you. Just knowing you were up here, the food you have given us, the little chats we’ve had, the support with the kids. It’s been… you know. Priceless. I think it’s kept me sane, this… heavy handed flirting.” 

He giggles again. That’s good. Even giggling is something Isak has added to his list of things that make his heart sing. Along with Even smiling, Even talking, Even walking, Even’s mismatched socks and Even just existing. And a few more things.

“I won’t flirt with you. Not now. You are going to lie here with your feet up and get pampered and tended to your every whim. See? For the next 24 hours, you are mine.”

“You are flirting again.”

“Oops.”

“I don’t mind. Flirting is fun. It makes me feel better, you know, that you care. I’m not in a good place right now, and anything that takes my mind out of the dark, is good. You are good.”

“I’m good for you.” Isak says, his voice cracking a little. 

“You are good for me.” Even says, lying his head down on the cushion, shaping it behind his neck. “You are even better for me when you bring me comforting hot drinks and snacks. That is really good for me.”

“Bastard,” Isak laughs. “You are only here for the snacks and drinks. I know you. Use and abuse. You will eat all my food and then leave me heartbroken and crying on the sofa. I know your type.”

“True.” 

Even is smiling now. Keep going, Isak. You’ve got this. 

He tries to look confident as he walks into the kitchen, scanning the worktops and almost tripping over his own feet, trying to figure out what he is actually, doing. Even is back. Even is on his sofa. Even. He can't quite believe he finally pulled it off, despite the last couple of days being a living hell of emotions and contradicting plans in his head, none of them good enough to attempt, and as it turned out, he wasn't brave enough to pull any of them off. He had gone downstairs, stood outside Even's door and listened to the constant movement, the noise, the shouting, and all he had wanted to do was to yank the door open and shout for them all to calm the fuck down. Not that that should have happened, because what had been happening over the last couple of days had been inevitable. It had been just normal family life, the shouting, screaming, laughter and ...life. Something Isak has realized he misses more than anything else. He wants that. Just a little bit of shouting. Some company. Some bloody human contact from someone who can tolerate his messed up self. Someone like Even, who had seemed to actually like him before he had decided to totally ghost his ass. 

Isak had even made it back down to the wine shop, picking up a bottle of some ridiculously overpriced posh red wine, just in case. Something the over enthusiastic salesman had promised to be smooth as velvet and like chocolate on your tongue. Isak thinks that might mean he would be sick as a dog for days after half a glass, but Even would like it, so he had bought a bottle, and it has been sitting on his kitchen worktop mocking him since. 

Yet now, when said wine could come in handy? Isak can't think of anything worse. The last thing they need now is alcohol, to dull any defences and muddle the already frankly murky waters. They need to be sharp. He needs to be sharp. 

"You comfortable?" he shouts towards the living room, half expecting to be met with silence, yet smiling like he is a losing his own mind when Even laughs and replies that he is nice and warm. Comfortable. Wondering where the bloody coffee is? Isak had already forgotten, now rumbling around in his drawers looking for the bloody decaf for the aeropress. 

He chooses two cups, Little My for Even again, and a Moomin one for himself. Smiling as he measures out the milk in the steamer, like he is congratulating himself on his domestic skills, giggling softly with a shrug of his shoulders. He's got this. He can make this attractive. He could be an attentive husband. He's good with kids. He's good with keeping a home. He can bake. Cook. Clean. Look after himself. Well, his plumbing skills are questionable, he has no idea of interior design, really, and his relationship history is not even worthy of mentioning, and he makes a mental note to promptly delete his Grindr profile. Just in case. Because there is only one pair of pants worthy of getting into right now, and it's not the ones he is wearing himself. Nor is sex on the agenda, but yet...He wants to. One day. So much.

He opens the fridge door and stares at the contents. Would serving jam on toast be seen as a romantic gesture? Should he open the wine? Just in case? He shakes his head in frustration. No. No wine. Jam is for kids, despite the one he has in his fridge being home made. He likes jam on toast. Jam is for breakfast. 

"You hungry?" he shouts out, hoping to gauge how much effort he should put into a simple cup of coffee, that he hopes will last for days. Then he rolls his eyes at himself, mocking his pathetic attempts at conversation. Even belongs here, with him. He needs to sharpen up, and make him stay. He would love it if Even stayed. Just lounging on that sofa with Even next to him, for days on end. He would have Even's feet on his lap. Perhaps even get a cuddle out of it. Will he be brave enough to get Even to lie on his lap? He's staying whatever the outcome. Jam or no jam, Isak is making this work. This date. Because this will be a date, whatever happens. 

He adjusts himself in his jeans, his cheeks blushing with shame. He is horny. He is perma horny around Even. All the time. He just can’t help it, he takes one look at the guy, and his dick swells. Even is beautiful, yes, anyone can see that. He is also tall and funny and strong, and yet, there is so much sadness. A vulnerability that breaks Isak’s heart. And then there is all that strength, where Isak thinks, if Even would just hold him he would find some kind of superhuman power to change the world for the better. It’s all strange thoughts to be swirling around in his head, as he unwraps a slab of cheese, and arranges it on the wooden board in front of him. Adds a knife, and scoops up some butter to place next to it. He wonders if he still owns some of that English chutney he used to buy, but he can’t remember buying it since lockdown. Trying to be frugal and all that. 

“I’m in love,” he whispers to himself, smiling. It’s something he has never dared to admit to himself before. The love bit. He barely knows the guy, but fuck, he wants to. He wants to know every little inch of his skin. He wants to know his heart. His thoughts. He wants to be in Even’s life, however Even will have him. 

“One step at a time,” he continues to whisper to himself. “One fucking baby step, at a fucking time.”

“What are you muttering about out there?” Even shouts.

“Just talking to myself.” Isak giggles. “Do you take sugar in your coffee?”

He knows Even doesn’t, but right now, he’s trying to calm himself down. Be normal. Caring. Not flirt. 

Fucking don’t flirt.

  
  
****

## Even

It’s strange lying there on the sofa, just listening to the quiet noise of life humming through the walls. The soft footsteps in the kitchen as Isak moves around, no doubt making those coffees he promised. The sound of bread being cut. The fridge door opening and closing, as the coffee machine spits out what he can smell is some good quality stuff. Soft aromas wafting through the air that reminds Even of summer mornings of long gone, from a time where he would wake Sonja up in bed with toast and coffee, where he would hold Freya in his arms, and watch Thor sleep, nested up in his mother’s arms. 

These days it’s just him. Him and sometimes the kids. God, he misses them, and again his head fills up with guilt over not doing enough. Not being enough. Ever. 

“Are you making a full gourmet dinner out there?” he shouts out into the empty room, pulling the blanket up to his chin, sniffing the edge. It, too, smells of Isak. Of everything in this flat. Bread. Coffee. Something new, that in a way makes him calm. He’s here. Isak wants him to be here. “How do you want your steak? Medium or Medium rare?” Isak shouts, an edge of laughter to his voice.

“I only have steak with good red wine. I doubt you own any.” Even shouts back, stifling a giggle.

“Spoilt brat, you are,” Isak replies dryly, coming through the door carrying a tray topped with mugs and toasted bread. Butter. A slab of cheese that smells heavenly and makes Even sit right back up. 

“Lie down,” Isak says sternly.

“I’ll choke on my cheese lying down,” Even giggles. “Well, maybe that is what you want?” 

“Yeah, I’m a shrewd serial killer, me, I invite my victims in for coffee, show off my impressive collection of kitchen goods, and then make them choke to death on good quality cheese.”

“If that’s your kink?” Even winks.

“Not really. I’d make a really bad serial killer. I mean, where would I dispose of the body?”

“The neighbour downstairs would complain about the constant sawing, the blood dripping through the ceiling and the foul stench from the floorboards?”

“Bleugh. No. I couldn’t be a serial killer. I almost threw up watching some movie in the 90ies, one of those Hannibal ones.”

“It’s fascinating though. I was offered to work on a horror porn flick. Turned it down, it was so bloody bad. I mean if you are pretending to be a flesh eating gay vampire, then at least do your research. It was shot in bright sunlight on a pool deck.”

“Amateurs.” Isak laughs. “Anyway, how did this conversation go from cheese to serial killers and ….flesh eating gay porn making vampires?”

“It’s more interesting than say… zombies? I love a good zombie movie. What would you do if the zombie invasion came?” 

It’s almost like he is back to himself, just for a while. Like the fog has lifted a little bit as he cuts himself another piece of cheese, and places it on the buttered toast in front of him. It’s obviously homemade, not the kind of store bought stuff Even would keep in his cupboards. It also tastes nicer, because he didn’t make it himself. Someone made him something to eat, which is a rare occurrence. He can’t even remember the last time he had a meal in a restaurant. Went to a dinner party. Had someone else, someone who wasn’t Isak, make him a meal. 

“Have some coffee. That’s what I would do in a Zombie invasion. Fuel up on coffee, barricade the windows and doors. And wait. I would be fully armed. The flat stocked up with tinned foods, and yeah. I could sit it out, from up here I could even sit on the balcony and take pot shots. Like in the Walking Dead.”

“I love that series. Ugh. So much. Did you know they do a real Walking dead experience in Universal studios in LA? Actors all dressed up hiding in this maze and they pounce on you and scare the shit out of you. Really funny. I want to go. One day. Bring Freya and Thor, they would love it. “

“They like scary stuff like that?” Isak is talking with his mouth full. Taking big gulps of coffee and then chewing the crust of the bread, trying to smile. 

“Thor thought the scary rides at Gröna Lund were for babies. We’re not even going to talk about the Ghost train ride. He was bored. I was going to take them to Copenhagen this year, do Tivoli Gardens and all that. Not happening now, though.”

“I’ve been to Copenhagen a few times, I would love to go to Tivoli Gardens, I’ve never been, because, you know. Single male, in a theme park, on his own.”

“Definitely gives off Serial Killer vibes. I can see it now.”

“It’s nice that we can talk, you know, about really silly things.”

“Zombies are not silly. They are scientifically proven to be a possibility. Everyone should have a plan for a zombie invasion.”

“We will join forces then, when the zombies come, we will board up the balcony up here, and take potshots from yours. That way we can see what is coming from below, and not have to worry about zombies coming from above. We should be able to hear them, and provide a netting structure. You know. Something like that.” 

He’s smiling, Isak. Leaning back in his armchair. 

“You’re too far away now.” Even says softly. “I like it better when you are next to me.”

He does. His whole body calms down when Isak sits down next to him, letting his hands hold on to the edge of the sofa cushion. He’s not comfortable there, Even can tell. He’s nervous. Scared he would overstep the mark, which is of course Even’s fault, because he is just as scared himself. 

“You know?” he starts, shuffling what feels like a meter, when it’s surely just a centimeter or two. He can feel Isak’s leg against his thigh. His body radiating more heat than it should.

“I want to do everything with you. I’m just laying my cards on the table here. But you probably know that already. But nothing will happen, I promise you. I will not push, you have to believe me. I’m not an arsehole. I’m just grateful that I can be here for you, and that you...in a way, are here for me too. I need this. I just need a little bit of human interaction. From you.”

“You don’t have to hold back, Isak. I won't run away, this time. If you...you know. Wanted to try.”

“Try what? I need you to be specific with what you want, because I don’t want to….I don’t want to get carried away with things….you don’t want to do. With me.”

“Isak? I’ve crushed on men before. That’s not something new. I have kissed men before. There have been other people, in the past. And it’s OK you know? I’ve never held that side of myself back, it’s not a big secret, I just don’t think it’s something to tell people. I don’t feel I have to introduce myself to the school parents with Hi, Hello, I’m Even, Thor and Freya’s Dad, I’m single and I sometimes fall in love with women and I sometimes fall in love with men. Does that make me a different person? No. I don’t think it does. But I like you, you know that. And I think I would really like if you kissed me, again, without me running away. And if you wanted more than kissing? Perhaps I might be ok with that too. Depending on what you are into. I mean the gay vampire horror port brought out some interesting ideas….”

“Shut up, Even.” Isak smiles. “Shut the fuck up and kiss me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want more? We've got more...


	12. EVEN

It’s perhaps not the most romantic of moments, but then Isak did say he wasn’t an affectionate romantic person. Facts which should have put Even off, because Even, after all, is all about affection, touch and romance, down to the way his toes curl when Isak puts his hand around the back of his neck. The way Isak’s eyes dart between his eyes and his lips. The way Even can’t help lick his own bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. His lips have a hint of cheese. Isak’s taste of coffee. Of bread and love and human touch. 

They taste of freedom, something that makes Even smile when the thought pops into his head, just as it tastes of not being free at all. Because Even likes this, he likes this man, and he likes all the things that he can see so clearly in his head now. How this? This might be good. No, scrap that, this might be more than good. This might actually perhaps even work. He can see them, living here, living together, and apart. How perhaps…

He breaks off the kiss, not because it wasn’t good, no it was more than good, it was making his head spin a little, the way Isak’s tongue was moving in his mouth, how his own tongue was tickling back. It was very good, but...

“Do you want to live here for the rest of your life?” comes out of his mouth, totally unexpected. Or maybe not.

“Depends on the zombie invasion. We might be better off somewhere more remote. Perhaps in a cabin on top of a mountain. Electric fences everywhere. You, me, the kids. A few non-zombiefied dogs. That would do me.”

“I was kind of thinking more short term. Perhaps we could start off with somewhere near the coast. I mean, we could both work from home. The kids could come live with us, and…”

“Even, I’ve kissed you twice, and now suddenly, you want to move in with me?“

“Yeah?” Even laughs. It’s ridiculous, he knows that. But he’s always been slightly ridiculous.“I moved in with Sonja after a week. See how that turned out? I should have moved faster. So I thought, two kisses worth? I’m already making plans. Just so you know. Zombie invasion or not.”

“Did you read that article about the remote cabin where they found some guy dead? Totally mummified. Must have been there for years.”

“I am trying to get you to agree to moving in with me and the kids, in a nice house on the coast, and you are talking of mummies?” Even laughs. Bubbles of happiness in his veins. He leans in and kisses Isak again. This Isak. This man who has turned out to be just as ridiculous as himself.

“I would be that guy. You would go ahead of me with the truck of moving stuff, and I would be driving our car there. Do we have a car, by the way?”

“We do. A Peugeot Estate.. Black.” 

“That will do. So I am driving up in the Peugeot, and since I am a city kid, I get lost. Completely. It’s all trees and bloody reindeer everywhere.”

“Isak, there are no reindeer on the roads out towards Tønsberg.” 

“You want to move to Tønsberg?” 

“I don’t really care, as long as you are with me. But we need water. Coastline. Swimming in the summer and milder winters.” 

He steals another kiss. Then Isak steals one back. Then they kiss, for what seems like forever, with Isak’s hand creeping under Even’s t-shirt, and Even’s fingers looping tentatively under Isak’s belt. “But you were saying? You are lost among herds of non existent reindeer. Next thing there will be polar bears and the famous Trondheim penguins coming on as well?” 

Isak laughs softly, letting his head come to rest on Even’s shoulder. His body is so close that Even can feel him breathe. His chest rising and falling against his own. Shuffling closer and closer until he is pretty much on top, the weight of Isak like a comforting blanket. Albeit a bloody heavy one.

“There are no bloody penguins in Trondheim. But they are in Sandefjord. They are an ice hockey club. Sandefjord Penguins.”

“That’d be perfect. The kids love hockey.”

“Great. We can get seasonal tickets for matches.”

Even frowns. “You’re into hockey?”

“Yeah, you’re not?” Isak sounds eager.

“Well, not if I can avoid it. Just what I need to do. You know, father’s duty and all that. The kids play down at Furuset.”

“Jeeez, you don’t know what you’re missing! It’s super fun! I used to play when I was younger, and even got a sports scholarship at Harvard, but I decided to stay in Oslo,” Isak shrugs.

“Do you still play?”

“Only old boys’ hockey. The most dangerous league there is.”

“Dangerous?”

“Everybody thinks they are world champions, while we suck at it and our bodies should have left the sport like ten years ago.” Isak claps his knee. “I tore my crucial ligament a few years ago.”

“So you quit then?” Even asks, already knowing the answer from Isak’s broad smile.

“Haha, nope. Hardly took a break for the rest of the season, of course. And was awarded with a lot of exercise for the next year.”

“It continued, I see.” Even pokes Isak’s abs.

“Well, I like it. And so do you, it seems.” Isak’s smile is irresistible and Even can’t stop himself from lifting the hem of Isak’s shirt to kiss the soft skin there, not avoiding the feeling of the trail leading down against his lips. “You distract me,” he mutters against the muscles shaking lightly under Isak’s laugh.

“Sorry. You wanna go back to whatever we talked about before ice hockey?”

“What was that again?”

“Me getting lost on the way to Tønsberg. Or Sandefjord.”

“You can’t do that. You can’t get lost, it’s like the E18 straight south.”

“Straight south, right. You have no idea what detours there can be,” Isak says while sliding his fingers in intricate patterns on Even’s shoulders. Or maybe the patterns only feel intricate, Even is not sure.

“So you get lost then?”

“I get lost, on some god forsaken back roads, then it turns out I have Covid-19, so I have to find an isolated cabin to self isolate in, despite any advise to avoid cabins when you are sick, and then I am found 5 years later by some keen hikers who are scarred for life after finding my mummified bones.”

“Bullshit. I would find you on the GPS on my phone, and come rescue you.”

“You would?” Isak laughs against his shoulder. His fingers pulling down the neckline of Even’s t-shirt, and placing a kiss on his skin. “You would come rescue me, with Covid-19 and all?”

“Too late now, if you have it? I have it. But then we might never know. And if we both get sick now, at least we can self isolate together. No need to find an abandoned cabin to get mummified and eaten by wild dogs in.”

“Wild penguins, more likely. And polar bears.“

“Rabid reindeer. I hear they have taken over the wilderness up north.”

“Can reindeers catch Covid-19?”

“Shut up and kiss me, Even.”

He doesn’t get to reply to that. It’s just the way it is. 

His body is still heavy on top of his own, his chest struggling to breathe under all that weight, but Isak’s mouth is placing feather light little kisses on his cheeks. Blustering little breaths on his eyelids with strokes from his lips over the skin on his face. Fingertips playing lazily with the hem of his jumper, the skin on his hips now on show. His threadbare joggers sliding down with every careful movement, every jerk of Isak’s hips, however small, making Even’s breath hitch. 

It’s been a long time. Too long it seems, as he feels out of control. Out of practice, with no clue where to even start. Instead he let’s his hands grab Isak’s face, holding him still for a moment. 

“I know I said I have done this before…” he starts, feeling like a blushing virgin. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Isak almost hisses, diving in for what Even can only describe as a frankly filthy kiss. Deep and heady, making Even’s cock twitch beneath what is now clearly… an… erection on Isak’s part. He’s hard. Fully so, grinding his hips in little circles against Even’s own troublemaking organ. Because yeah. He wants this. If he had had any doubts before? They are still there, but dulled under arousal, and need.

“Stop, for a second?” he whispers. “Please?”

“Sorry.” Isak whispers back, looking terrified all of a sudden. “I didn’t mean to get so carried away, but you are just...Irresistible.” He smiles, looking so cute that Even can’t help smile back.

“I don’t know what you want,” Even says, hoping he doesn’t sound like a nerd. “I know it used to be a thing, you know, ask if you prefer topping or bottoming or if a simple blowjob will do the trick...kind of.”

Ah. That was awkward. Obviously, because Isak’s face is now in Even’s neck and Even is not sure if he is laughing or crying or trying to figure out how he can throw Even out of the window without being charged with manslaughter.

“Sorry. I’ve never actually had anal sex with another man, just with… Ahhhrgh. I know I shouldn’t talk about my ex wife when I am about to get off with the hottest bloke in the world… but... you know… You should know by now that I am not exactly smooth….”

“Don’t talk dirty to me, Even, because I almost came in my pants a minute ago, and then you start talking about bottoming and fuck…” He lifts his weight of Even, which makes Even panic, throwing his arms around the man on top of him, pushing him back down in his embrace. 

“You can do anything you want with me, you know, as long as we take it slow. I know you would be good to me, and I know you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I might hurt you. I might be into all sorts…” Isak giggles, and leans in for another kiss. Brushing his lips over Even’s, then letting the top of his tongue lick the tip of his nose. 

“I’d be open to anything. I mean, I just want to… you know… Get you off.”

“And I thought I was the unromantic one. Here I was thinking you would fix all that shit, buy me flowers and seduce me on the sofa. Or something….”

He suddenly looks lost, Isak. The man with all the answers, the man who makes Even suddenly calm. Because he might not have all the answers, but perhaps he is one, himself. 

“I’m not really a flower person.” Even starts. “I might buy you a nice bottle of wine, but I know now you wouldn’t appreciate it. Beer would be nice, but is hardly romantic. I think, perhaps, renting a cabin somewhere, and going away, just you and me. Just spend some time together, and get to know each other. That might be a romantic thing to do, what do you think?”

“Sort of the thing we are doing now then? Just the cabin is my flat, but we are going to spend this time getting to know each other. Kissing…..and I think...I think I would like to give you a blowjob. Would that be...chill?”

  
“Chill? How old are we? 12? That is like something Thor would say to his mates, trying to be cool or something.”

“Even?”

“Yeah?”

“Lay back.” 

Bossy Isak is apparently back as he pushes Even down on the sofa, rearranging the pillows behind his head, and placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Next time I kiss you, I will have just blown you. OK? You will be nice and chill and relaxed and spent. All jelly and bones. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

“Suppose?” Even kind of squeals, his voice suddenly not too sure of itself.

“Now, lie down, and relax. “ 

“I’m already lying down.”

“Shut up.” Isak giggles, and tugs Even’s joggers down, taking his boxers down with them, and all of a sudden Even feels terribly exposed. Cool air around his groin, whilst still wearing his t-shirt. His legs all over the sofa, and Isak making himself comfortable on his knees on the floor.

“Not 18 anymore, need a cushion under my knees,” he mutters, flashing an almost embarrassed little smile, as he steals a sofa cushion and arranges it on the floor. Kneels again, placing himself over Even’s groin. Where he has a very prominent… Yeah. His dick is out for all to see.

He’s never been ashamed of nudity. It’s never bothered him being naked around his kids. He’s always bloody running around naked. It’s just being inspected, like Isak is right now. Like he is eyeing him up, like a feast. 

“Stop staring,” Even squalls. “I’m getting embarrassed.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about. You have a gorgeous dick. Just like the rest of you.” 

And there he goes. Isak’s lips are now kissing his stomach. Little soft kisses over his skin, and yes, he is bloody embarrassed about the state of his dick, all hard, and jerking with every little accidental touch. A brush of Isak’s hair. A small stroke from his nose. Fingers. Hands. Fuck it.  _ Jerk me off already!  _

Isak doesn’t, of course. Because Isak is a bloody tease and that tongue of his is a menace, lapping little licks over Even’s balls, as Even himself is squirming like a toddler. His legs jerking with involuntary tiny spasms. His hands fisting sofa cushions, because he really wants to tug at Isak’s hair, but he’s honestly not sure of the blowjob etiquette these days.

“Can you…?” he begs, feeling more pathetic than should be allowed. “I might just.. You know, explode in your face if you are not careful,” Even pants out.

“That’s OK. As long as you are enjoying yourself,” Isak says calmly, and licks a wet line along Even’s dick. From the root, all the way up to the tip. The bastard.

“Stop bloody teasing.”

“Then tell me what you like. What do you need?” Why is Isak so calm? Why the hell is he so bloody calm?

“Suck me, hard and fast and use your bloody hand too, and with the other play with my balls. Or nipples. Just bloody touch me!” 

That was rude. Bossy. And Even has to take a deep breath as Isak lets out a very small giggle. 

“Yes boss,” he says, and then he goes to town. 

Even thinks he lasts, perhaps 30 seconds. Maybe less, before his dick explodes into the warm wet heat that is Isak’s mouth. It’s not dignified. It’s bloody ridiculous. It’s heavenly in all its madness. 

“Ahhhhrghhghg,” he roars into his own fist, trying to control his voice. He can’t seem to form words, just a load of pathetic whines. And panting, fucking panting like he has run a marathon with sweat rolling down his forehead and now Isak bloody won’t get off. He’s still licking him clean. Teasing. Rolling one nipple between his fingers, just gently. Perfectly, the way Even likes it. Bloody hell.

“Too… sensitive,” Even pants, using his hand to push Isak’s head away. Slapping his wrist by mistake as he guards his poor oversensitive body. “Fuck you,” he blurts out.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Isak laughs. “Or would you like to? Because we’ve got all night, so just tell me what you want, and I am all yours.”

“Fuck you.” Even laughs. “Fuck… just fuck you!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you are enjoying this little lockdown adventure, we are easing out of it in the UK now, and Norway has found it's new Normal. But Even and Isak are still in the midst of it all, and I think we might keep them there...at least for this chapter. 
> 
> Stay safe, wear a mask, be kind and give those you love an extra hug. 
> 
> All the love S and P x


	13. ISAK

The couch is a mess and there are some stains there that half makes Isak proud, and half reminds himself somewhere at the back of his brain to remove, before he gets any more visitors. Which is probably in a long time, he remembers, since nobody comes around during the pandemic. But anyways. Stains. They’ll need to go.

He considered jerking off after Even came in his mouth, but the taste was too delicious, he just had to savour it, enjoy it, and then Even was so wonderful and cute where he was laid back, completely spent against the pillows.

Instead Isak just rested his cheek against Even’s chest, and felt his heartbeat calm down as the rib cage raised and fell with the slowering breath. He could lie there forever, if it wasn’t for the increasingly uncomfortable floor under his knees.

He yanks himself into the couch and straddles Even. Isak’s dick is hard against Even’s stomach as he bends forward to kiss him. Even is panting into his mouth, licking greedily at his tongue. He is an eager kisser, that man, and already half-hard again. Himself, he is hard as a pole. He slides a hand between them, stroking over Even’s slick dick and considers grabbing them both, just to get release.

“Come on.” He lifts his head and looks at Even. His eyes are wet and his skin is glowing. “Let’s move into the bedroom.”  
“Not the kitchen? Your office?”  
“Not today,” Isak laughs. He can imagine them on the leather couch while watching a movie together. Maybe one of Even’s, one that Even has carefully selected the scenes for. Maybe they can reenact them, he remembers one of them vividly, the naked man leaning back into the chair, legs spread, pressing his finger into his hole while the other man came in. Maybe he can do that, tell Even to wait for him when he gets back from shopping, or let Even surprise him here.

But now. The bedroom.

They rush into the room. In a moment of regret Isak sees he has absolutely not cleaned the room for visitors. A pair of pants are thrown on the bed, the duvet is curled all over the place, the pillows are flat and worn, and socks and boxers are thrown in a corner. He remembers the hamper is in the hallway full of laundry for tomorrow’s laundry slot, a slot he hereby has no intention of using, and while the untidy bed freaks him out a bit, he decides to forget it as soon as they fall down on it, Even first, stumbling in the pants still stuck around his ankles, Isak crashing on top of him.

They roll, almost instantly resuming with the kissing. Isak slides his hands up and down along Even’s back, and feels him do the same. He pants when Even curls his big hands around Isak’s buttocks, pushing him against his groin, his hardness grinding towards his own. Even is definitely no longer limp. “Eager, huh?” Isak smiles against that soft spot on Even’s neck where he can feel the pulse at his lips. He traces the tendons with small kisses.  
“I want you.” Even’s eyes are dark when he looks at Isak.

Isak smiles again. His hands start gliding over Evens’s hips, teasing him, he hopes, his thumb circles over the smooth skin, while Even pushes up against him. “Stop fucking teasing me,” he laughs.

“I am not teasing you,” Isak laughs while continuing the light strokes, moving closer and closer to his groin. Even tenses under him, pushing his hips up and his thighs out. Isak circles the root of his dick, feeling the stiff hair tickle his fingertips. “What do you want?” he asks in a low voice.  
“Whatever you want,” Even replies with a low groan.

Isak lets his index finger draw lines around Even’s balls, weighing them between his fingers, moving the weight from side to side. He feels a sigh through Even as he lets his long finger slide further back, across the sensitive skin behind the balls, while playing with the other fingers. “You like that, huh.”  
Evern doesn’t answer, just widens his thighs further to give more room. Isak grabs the bottle of lube he has by the bed, noticing it’s light and not far from empty, he should get more, he thinks, before he drips the soft liquid over his fingers. He feels Even tense as the cool lube hits him, before he starts to move his fingers further back.

He plays with a finger tip at his opening, circling the thin skin before pushing gently. Even stiffens and pulls the muscles around his hole, and Isak pauses for a little while, then he feels Even loosen up and he pushes slowly further inside.

Even groans as Isak fingers him. “Just fucking fuck me.” The words are barely recognizable.  
Isak grabs a condom and pulls it on, before drizzling more lube on. He enters Even slowly, feeling him expand as he pushes in, feeling him tensing under him. “You want me to stop?”  
“No, just go on. It’s just been a while. And we didn’t have… toys this big.” The last words come with a groan as Isak pushes fully in.

He pauses while Even is getting used to it. He smiles at the memories, his own first time, how eager he was, how he barely felt the pain even if he knew it was there, because he had sex with the same man several times later and it had always stung. A comfortable sting, but nevertheless. Nothing like the first time, he thinks before he slowly starts to move.

He is not going to last, he thinks. His dick is hard and over-stimulated already, he will either have to give up after too long and be left with a hardon to handle on his own, or he will come soon. He aims for the latter as he speeds up. Even starts to roll his hips under him, getting into his rhythm. “You like it?” he asks, while kissing his neck below the hairline.  
“I feel a bit stuck.”  
“Yeah, it’s kind of the anal missionary,” Isak giggles.  
“Anal mission.”  
“Sounds like a book.”  
“Or a movie.”  
“You can have it. Use it as a title for your next movie,” Isak says.

Fucking Even is like a movie. The view of his own dick going in and out of Even's arse is like a porn scene, and the thought of Even watching the movie in detail before editing it makes him harder. If that was possible.

He comes with a groan, almost unexpectedly, without the usual build up and static in his head. It’s weird. Well, not like his usual emotionless encounters, but nevertheless, it’s...weird. In a comfortable way.

The way Even is lying there, his dick still hard. The way he is just relaxed, yet his breath is laboured as Isak pulls out, trying to catch the condom in a non weird way.

Not that Even is watching, as he ties it up and throws it into the corner. Another thing to file away on his to-do list for later. For God’s sake, clean up the place, he thinks to himself as his hand starts to jerk Even off. He bends down, almost in automatic, licking the tip of Even’s dick. It’s a gorgeous dick. A dick he wouldn’t mind revisiting. He would even let Even top him, something he usually doesn’t even entertain the thought of. He would, though, Even could fuck him and Isak wouldn’t mind. Not one bit. It might even be good. Better than good, he thinks before his mouth is filled with saltiness and warmth. He smiles, well as much as he can smile with a mouth full of dick and come and Even’s mouth spitting out swearwords as his hips buck and his fingers grab at the hair on Isak’s head. He doesn’t need to speak after that, just curls up on Even’s chest, no doubt drooling on his skin. Sleep claims him, and he rudely, and most comfortably, can't bring himself to care.

The early spring sun is sneaking past the neighbouring house corner and between his blinds when he wakes up next morning. He is on his back, there is something heavy on his chest, something tickling his nose, something making circles on his sweat skin. The duvet is rustling as he glances down and meets Even’s blue eyes.

“Hi.”  
“Hi.”  
“Still here?” Isak smiles and lets Even’s hair slide between his fingers. It’s just as soft as he imagined.  
“You want me to leave?” Even asks. His voice is rusty.  
“Not at all.” Isak kisses the top of his head and pulls him tighter. He sniffs his hair. He already loves the smell of it, of sweat and salt and grease and some hair product he briefly saw in Even’s bathroom. Of man, more manly than any man he has smelt, better than any man he has smelt, he can’t even remember having smelt a man before, it’s like Even is overwhelming all his senses. “Come ‘ere,” he says, pulling lightly at Even’s arm. His chest. His waist.  
Even makes a face when crawling up. A low whimp is escaping his lips.  
Isak scrunches his forehead. “Do you hurt? Was I too rough on you?”  
“No, no, not at all. It’s just been a while since all this gymnastics.” Even stretches a leg and turns around. “Well, I may be a bit tender, too. A little.” He grimaces. “A bit more than a little, perhaps.”  
“I am sorry I hurt you.”  
“Don’t be sorry.”  
Isak kisses Even. “I am not really.”  
“It was worth it.”

“We should have a shower, I think.”  
“Let me make coffee first.” Isak crawls out of bed. His body is stiff and tender. He fucked Even twice and was fucked once, too. Or two? And he sucked Even again, he is pretty sure. So like… three fucks and five orgasms. Or four. Or six. His brain can’t even count. His reptile brain will only focus on sex when he thinks about sex. Which is quite logical, he concludes.

He hears Even in the shower and decides to join him when Even’s phone starts blaring and blinking. He looks at the display, wondering if he should just let it ring. It’s Thor. He lifts the phone halfway to his ear.  
“Even, Thor is calling you. Do you want me to…” he yells.

“Don’t answer it!” Even comes running out from the bathroom in panic, naked and wet and almost sliding on the slick floor. He is gorgeous. Soft skin and smooth muscles, water drops running down his spine and bum and gathering along his things and legs. Even reaches for his phone and grabs it from Isak’s hand. “Hi Thor. It’s Dad. What? Are you here?” He starts looking stressed around. “Ehr now I am at the supermarket. Yeah, the supermarket. Had to buy some stuff. Back soon. Will you wait for me? Ok… no, sure, it’s ok, it’s only been a day, no problem.”

Isak watches the freaked out Even. He looks like the stressed guy he met some times a few weeks earlier. When Sonja was sick. When the kids were making chaos. When the world seemed to fall apart. Now the panicked guy is back. The short breaths, flickering eyes, alert movements, clutching his phone.

“Calm down, Even,” he says in a low voice, rushing over, sliding his hand up and down Even’s wet skin. “What's wrong? Is anyone sick? Something wrong?”  
“No, no, Thor just…” Even struggles to breathe, it seems. “He was here.”  
“Here??” Isak looks confused at Even, then at the door. It’s closed, and the lock seems to be in the right position. “But… how?”

His brain shortcuts. When was Thor here? This night when they were sleeping, this morning after they woke up, when they were kissing, when Even was blowing him yet another time, when Isak was licking and figering his tender arse? Before Even jumped into the shower, when they were both walking naked around with all their hickeys and marks and stiff spunk all over?

“No, not here!” Even looks calmer now. “Look, he was downstairs. In my flat. To pick up something. And then I wasn’t there. I said I was out shopping.”  
“Is he waiting for you?”  
“No, Thomas was driving him over and was waiting outside.”  
“Shit.”

Even starts pacing the floor. “I should leave, shouldn’t I? Shit. Should I call Sonja?”  
“Why?”  
“Because… I don’t know.”  
“Even, relax. Your kiddo came home out of schedule while you were not there. You said you were shopping. He left. End of story. Nobody is hurt. Nobody is dead. No harm.”  
“You think I am hysterical, doesn’t you?”  
Isak shrugs. “No. Just… different from me.”  
“You would have been calm?”  
“Well, first of all I don’t have kids who come around unannounced. And second, none of my family would pop over unannounced either. Actually none of them would just pop over, especially not now during lockdown.”  
“You don’t see them at all?”

Isak shrugs again, and lets out a sigh. “Well, I do, but like at Christmas and such.” He draws his breath, not sure he wants to go here. But the butterflies in his belly when he thinks about Even and when he sees him tells him he wants to keep him around, and then he might as well tell him. “My mum is sick. She has been in and out of psych wards for several years, living in an assisted facility between. My dad actually visits her regularly, but they both live a couple of hours from here, so I don’t see them often. I visited him for a couple of days during Christmas, but after that we have just messaged. We don’t talk much.”

“That’s normal, you know.” Even replies quietly. “Not everyone is close to their families. I mean, I’m quite close to mine, but Sonja hasn’t spoken to her brother for years. It’s not always healthy relationships, family. Sometimes you are better off stepping away, even if it’s just distancing yourself a little. It works both ways. Don’s feel bad about not being glued to your family. Instead, you make a new one. I did. I have the kids. And now? Maybe I have you too.”

Even folds his arms around Isak and pulls him closer. “Hey. Relax.” His whisper tickles against the sensitive skin on his neck. He is warm. Warm and soft and strong. And wet. Isak’s t-shirt is wet. “You’re dripping.”  
“Dripping?” Even casts a glance down at his midsection and scrunches his forehead.  
“From your hair, silly,” Isak laughs.  
“Oh.”  
“Let’s have a shower, shall we? It will be fast, you’ve already showered.”  
“Right.”

An hour later they stumble out from the damp bathroom. Isak makes a note about the fan not being able to handle steam from an entire hot water tank.

“Come, let’s make breakfast,” Isak laughs. “Coffee?” He puts a mug under the coffee machine and starts to heat it. Even nods and leans towards the kitchen table while Isak walks around opening the fridge and random cupboards and boxes. “We have granola,” he says. “And milk…” He sniffs the box and scrunches his nose. “Or not.” He puts it by the sink. “Yoghurt. Orange juice. Jam. Cheese. Crackers…” He ponders before turning towards the freezer. “And here we have rolls! And croissants! Do you like croissants?”  
Even shrugs. “Sure.”  
“I fold them four times so they have 81 layers. I tried an extra fold, but that just got messy.”  
Even freezes. “You make them yourself? I didn’t know that was possible?”  
Isak laughs at his surprised face. “Of course that’s possible. The supermarket ones are crap, although some stores have some decent ones.”  
“I buy them at 7/11,” Even mutters,  
“7/11! You really have no idea how a proper croissant tastes!” Isak laughs while popping the frozen croissants into the oven.

He’s right, of course he is. And he smiles smugly as Even messily stuffs his face.

“They are really delicious,” Even says with his mouth full of croissants. Dry flakes are flying out over the table when he speaks.  
“I know.” Isak is indulging in his coffee. He can’t stop himself from closing his eyes and tilting his face back as he drinks it. The first coffee mug in the morning is a necessity, but also the best one.

Even’s phone lights up on the table and beeps with an incoming message. Even grabs it absentmindedly and swipes to read it. His face becomes crimson. “Fuck.” He laughs and shakes his head.  
“What?” Isak looks at him.

“Look.” Even sighs and hands him the phone. And there it is, in black and white. From Thor, of course.

_“Why was your bed neatly made like mom does it, and cold as fuck after her polar cooling regimen yesterday. Were you upstairs with the guitar guy?”_

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are slowly getting there. I think.
> 
> A lot is happening in real life, and a lot of people are having rough times. Right now I'd like you all to send good thoughs to Sophia and her colleagues for the messy times they are going through in the airline business ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> Norway is kind of getting the second wave of covid-19, with lots of new cases especially among people travelling (wait, "green" country doesn't mean "safe", waddayasay?), but also spreading among idiots and the unlucky people not maintaining distance to them, and also due to severe systematic errors like the one on Hurtigruten. (Just google it. Just when you thought it couldn't get worse, it does. And they seriously have a director called Mr Martini.).


	14. EVEN

He had it all planned out in his head, the way he was going to get Thor and Freya to sit down in the living room, making sure everyone was both comfortable and relaxed, before having a therapeutic calm and frankly terrifying talk about the future of their family. He had even written down key words to use. Words not to use. No mention of moving house or changing their routines, because none of that is happening yet, despite Even’s pathetic internet searches on the big Estate Agent sites. 

There is a home that has caught his eye, right on the Fjord with 4 bedrooms and a guest cottage, and in his mind he is already there. He has this clear vision in his mind, the sunshine and a soft breeze caressing his face as he is sat on the front porch with Isak drinking coffee, both of them clearly living their best lives.  _ It’s instagram worthy _ , Isak had said when he had shown him the photos on the website. Rustic chairs on the existing veranda, earthy tones on the painted wooden buildings behind the main house. Water, sunshine, even happiness screaming from the professionally shot photos. 

Even had sighed. He knows he is impulsive and it’s all a dream but it’s the first time in years he has hope. Something that he can aspire to. Something that would make all of their lives better, because life in this flat suddenly feels closed in and lame.

Well, he is now sat on the sofa, alone, and not even the lure of the bowl of pick and mix on the table has managed to get Thor out of his room and Freya is sat at the kitchen table playing on her iPad. He has called her and threatened to take the iPad away, but she is apparently at some crucial stage in her game and keeps shouting  _ Wait wait wait! _ in a distraught voice. None of them had had any interest in interacting with their pathetic father who is now building steam on the inside like a locomotive on fire. 

“THOR!!!” he roars. Like a fool.

“What?” comes from behind the closed door.

“Please.” He almost whispers. “Can I please just talk to you?” his mouth almost squeals out. He was going to remain calm. Cool. Level Headed and precise.

Honest.

Well there he is, the prodigal son. Throwing himself on the sofa, then leaning up to grab a handful of sweets from the bowl, and shove them in his mouth with a satisfied groan.

“Did you get those salty balls? With the powder inside? You know?”

“Don’t know?” Even says, feeling confused. He has no idea what Thor is on about. As always.

“I want to talk to you about something.” He sounds calm and stern. Good job Even.

“If it’s drugs, Thomas has had the talk with me. If it’s sex? Mum has explained the birds and the bees. She made me watch a Swedish cartoon. It was mortifying. Please don’t ever do that to Freya.”

“It’s not about sex or drugs.”

“Pocket money? Can we agree on getting me a card this time, no more cash. Nobody has cash. I want a card. You can get these personalized ones with your name on it, and you can choose the photo…..”

“THOR!” He roars. He is not proud. But, yeah, the stress. It’s not his best moment, he could happily agree to that.

“I know, I know, you like Guitar-Man upstairs and probably spent the whole week up there hanging out doing baking stuff and...whatever you do. It’s chill. You can have friends you know, Dad. “

“I don’t want friends.” Even mutters. OK, so he is supposed to be the adult here, and is immediately railroaded by a 12-year-old. He takes a deep breath and stares at his son, who sighs with a shrug of his shoulders. “I want to fall in love and have a proper family. I don’t want to be your sad miserable single dad all my life. I want us to be a family.”

“Okay, Dad. Whatever. Get a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, well, not really.”

“There are apps for that, Dad. Internet dating. No idea how it works, but do you  _ have _ to have your girlfriend living like...  _ here _ ?” He is giggling, the little shit.

“Why are you laughing?”

“You are stooopid, Dad.” Thor actually smiles. Giggling away and rolling around on the sofa.

“I’m not stupid, and I don’t want a girlfriend.”

“You are stupid, because what would guitar-man upstairs say if you moved some girlfriend in here? Look. Guitar-man likes boys. He’s gay, OK? Did he not tell you? There are like pride stickers all over his door, and he has an Oslo Pride rainbow magnet on his fridge. I asked him, and he said he’s gay. I do talk to him, you know. So that means he doesn’t want to have a girlfriend either. You don’t want a girlfriend. Simple. See? That is how people find people to hang with. You want the same things, you like the same things. You laugh when you are together. Easy. Was there anything else you wanted to tell me? I would think about that bank card. A Visa card would be cool, then I could like spend whatever I wanted and you would just have to pay it off. Hahahahah…”

“THOR!” He roars again, as his son laughs in his face. “You have no concept of money, and you are not getting a card.”

“ _ You _ have no concept of making friends and all  _ my _ friends laugh at me when I have to pay for things with actual...coins. It’s embarrassing!”

“Isak and me? We’re friends.”

“Bullshit, Dad. Isak and you are kind of making embarrassing love heart eyes at each other. He likes you. You like him. What is the actual problem here? I wouldn’t mind having Isak hang out more. And anyway, It would be cool if you married him. I could like be special and have another Dad. Someone way cooler than you who would definitely get me a credit card. He said he earns good money so he could pay it off, no problem.”

“Thooor.” Even groans.

“Dad.”

“I am the worst father in the world, and your mother knows it.” 

“That is your low confidence talking again, Mum says we should suppress our low self confidence and kick it in the butt if it ever rears its ugly head in our minds. We are awesome. Smart. Amazing. Beautiful. So are you Dad. Even though you are kind of a crap Dad. A good Dad would not make me carry coins. They are dirty and could aid the spread of Covid-19”

“Thor….”

“Dad. I really need to go. I have to run a mission with Jacob and Torvil in 20 minutes, they will be pissed off if I leave them hanging. I have the weapons and they will be sitting ducks without me.”

“I don’t want to know…” Even sighs. 

He stares at his son again. The wild messy blonde hair. The cheeky smile he is trying to suppress. The way Thor always knows how to rile him up and put him on edge. Defend his Dadness. His choices. His bad parenting. He is actually a good parent. Sometimes Thor reminds him of that too. He lets him play games that he is far too young for. He gives him freedom. He teaches him things he needs to know. He hopes, despite not doing the drugs talk or showing his son Swedish cartoons about private parts. 

“Thor? I am a man, with two children and an ex wife who I will love forever. You do know that? That I will always love your mother more than anything, because she is an amazing woman and she is your mother. I love you more than anything else in the world, you and Freya will always come first. You know that?”

“Yes, Dad…..Seriously. Is this going to be one of those love bombing talks? Because I kind of know that you love me and want the best for me. OK?”

“I am bisexual.”

“I figured. You are doing heart eyes at Isak everytime you see him. You stare at his windows when we are outside. You are kind of obvious...Dad.”

“Does that bother you? In any way? That I might… like Isak?”

“You want to kiss him Dad. Well, I dunno, because, you know. Kissing. That stuff is weird. But no. Apart from that, I already said, I don’t mind having Isak around. Yet. He could be cool. Or not. If he’s not cool I will tell him. Can I go now? Can I take the bowl of sweets to my room? Look? I talked to you, Freya didn’t, so I win the sweets. Deal?”

“Just answer this…”

“Are you bribing me? I give you the right answer and I get the sweets?”

“Would you be upset if Isak was my boyfriend?”

“Would I be upset? Let’s dissect this question. If I say yes? I don’t get the sweets. If I say no, You will want to sit here and talk with me for longer, trying to explain why I should not be upset. Dad, you are so obvious. I’m taking the sweets. OK.” 

He does as well, grabs the bowl as Even grapples for it. Thor wins, standing up by the edge of the sofa with a triumphant grin on his face. “You do know I will be telling Isak that you sold him for a bowl of pick and mix that didn’t even have salty bombs in it. Seriously Dad, you are kind of shit at this game.”

“It’s not a game!” Even shouts, prompting Freya to slam the kitchen door open shouting that can they be quiet so she can concentrate because she is trying to swap a pet monkey for a unicorn and she needs to concentrate! Also can she buy Robux? Because she wants to buy a giraffe and a cow hood.

“You could sell Isak to Freya for a bargain bundle of Robux. Just a hint, Dad.” Thor cackles as he shoves another mouthful of sweets in his mouth. “A cow hood and a giraffe, and Freya will marry Isak herself. Think about it, Dad.”

Even just sighs. Sits himself down on the sofa and whines quietly. 

“Are you Ok, Daddy?”

“I’m fine, Freya darling.” He says back, reaching out to pull her in for a cuddle. He needs one. He needs normality. He needs to figure this new him out. 

He also needs to get back to work, look after his kids, make dinner and perhaps text his….boyfriend. Is he? Are they?

“Are you marrying Isak?” Freya asks, staring at him like Thor does. “That would be cool, but only if you buy me Robux.”

“Freya… I’m not… what… What are Robux?”

“I need money in my game to buy a cow hood. I have cow pants and I want new hair too. So I need money. Robux, for my game. Jasmina has 82 robux and she is trying to buy a chameleon pet, but you need 120 robux so we could share if you bought me like 200 robux. Maybe 500. Then I could buy a chameleon too and Jasmina and I could be pet twins. That would be soo cool. I need to go and talk to Jasmina later. Where did the sweets go? Did Thor take all the sweets? THOOOORRR!” She scrambles off his lap before he can catch her.

“Freya?” he shouts, standing up as she bangs at Thor’s door. 

“Dad, he should share the sweets!!”

“Freya, Daddy is in love with Isak upstairs. Isn’t that cool? Isak and Daddy being boyfriends.”

“You are the worst Daddy, letting Thor take all the sweets. Thor!! Open the door!”

This didn’t go as planned. At least none of his kids hate him, which is an improvement on the time he told them they were not buying a new car. Or when he cancelled their holiday to Spain. And when he refused to let them adopt a hedgehog. 

“Freya, wanna come with me for a walk down to the shops? We could buy more sweets. I’ll even let you choose.”

He is doing this all wrong, he knows that, but right now he is too happy to care. Too sated to worry. His mind constantly going back to the last couple of days. The kissing. The sex. The intimacy. Love. He was loved. Cherished. He got…

“Dad. Are you seriously bribing me with sweets? You will let me choose sweets if I come with you to the shop?” 

“Yes,” he says with a smile. Defeated. Again.

“So I will come with you to the shops, if you buy me Robux. Deal?”

  
  


Defeat. Again. Letting his kids pull all the strings as he smiles and fishes his phone out of his pocket. 

**_Wanna go for a walk with me and Freya? We need sweets and would love the company. You free?_ **

He smiles as he shoots off the text. Smiles even more as the reply comes back.

**_Give me 2 minutes to get my shoes on. I’ll come down._ **

He thinks that went well. His kids are now in the loop. Well. Sort of. It went well. He hopes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah yeah, we are getting there! Thanks for your nice and encouraging comments ❤️❤️❤️ We both needed them right now.


	15. ISAK - Three months later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost three months later, and things are wonderfully messy...

It’s a strange feeling, being at home, yet feeling like you are in someone else’s house, and once again Isak’s stomach is flipping like a dying goldfish. 

So, they are having dinner together tonight, as a family. Fine. That is something they have done many times before, because dinner has become kind of their thing. Well, alongside breakfast, because since Isak made the strange mistake of giving Thor a key for his apartment, more often than not, he will find Thor having made himself a little bit too much at home at Isak’s kitchen worktop, sitting on Isak’s stool, eating Isak’s food. Which usually results in Freya making her way upstairs and sneaking in through the now unlocked door, and somehow both children have cracked the code on his kitchen iPad, and it is infront of that he usually finds them eating bread with jam and watching something on Netflix. This used to be his home. Now he seems to have inherited some squatting gremlins who think they live there too.

Not that he should think like that, because 6 days out of 7 Isak scoffs down Even’s food for dinner, comfortably sat at Even’s rickety kitchen table, where he has installed his own coffee maker, and brought down a stash of coffee that now shares space in Even’s cupboards, crammed tightly in between some herbal teabags and children’s cereals.

He keeps telling Thor and Freya that they have their own perfectly good apartment downstairs, and that their Father surely will be cross when he wakes up and realizes that the kids are gone, to which Thor will snarl and Freya will stare at him like he has two heads. Just like this morning, when he stumbles out into his kitchen, having been woken up by the clattering of cutlery and slamming of cupboard doors.

“You’re an idiot,” Thor says, grabbing the butterknife and loading another dollop of butter onto his slice of bread. “Do you think we are children?” 

“We’re practically grown ups,” Freya says, a matter of factly, as she tugs at a brand new packet of cereal. “I was telling Jasmina I have three houses, and she didn’t believe me. She says people only have one or two. We have three. It’s like, so cool.”

“You have a home with your Dad, and one with your Mum,” Isak says, weakly.

“And we live here too. Look? I’m wearing pyjamas and having breakfast,” Freya says triumphantly. “That means, I live here. People only wear pyjamas in their homes.”

“True…” Isak says, trying to come up with a clever comeback. He should know better than to try to outwit Thor and Freya, especially this early in the morning.

“You have school today,” he says instead, hoping that it’s almost time for them to leave, when the clock on the wall screams nice and early to his fuzzy head.

“Yeah, and there was like no food downstairs, you always have the best stuff up here. It’s not fair. You should really move all this down to ours so we can all eat the good stuff. There was only crispbread and oats downstairs. I mean? Dad needs to go shopping again.”

“We are going shopping later,” Isak sighs. “Family Dinner tonight.”

“Yeah, Mum and Thomas are coming, and you and Dad are having a special chat with them.”

“How much did you hear?” Isak almost squeaks out as Thor winks at him and smiles. It could be evil, but strangely it’s not. 

“Enough. You want to live together. Which is cool. But Mum has to agree to let you move or something. I’m assuming we will have a say in it too, because I don't want to live with Mum full time, because she is always working. At least Dad is home and let’s us do things. We want to have our own rooms, don’t we, Freya?”

“I want a bed with a slide, I saw one in a catalogue. It’s what I want. And we can have a pool. If you buy a new house on Roblox you can have a pool. Can we have a pool, Isak?”

He should reply, he thinks, not just sit there and stare at the two kids who are just giggling slightly at his no doubt blushing face. So yeah. They listen into everything, and secrets are a thing of the past. 

“And anyway,” Thor says, laughing as breadcrumbs are spitting out of his mouth. “You really should stop the sneaking around. You can sleep downstairs, you know. We can hear you leaving early in the morning, and then you go up here and pretend to wake up. It’s kind of annoying because you wake us up before our alarms, just with the way you bang the door shut. Really, Isak. We are not children. If you want to sleep in Daddy’s bed, maybe you should bring your own pillow down here and just let us all sleep like normal people.”

“My pillow?”

“Hello?” comes the voice from the hallway, as a sleep rumpled Even appears in the doorway. “Is there coffee?”

“I used to have a nice peaceful life up here!” Isak shouts, giving Even a quick kiss before moving over to the sink to fill up the coffee maker. “If these two are going to steal my breakfast stuff here, every morning, then they have to start pulling their weight and at least start the coffee. I think that’s only fair,” Isak mutters. He’s joking, but Thor just swirls the key between his finger and says “you are the one who gave me the key and told me to help myself.”

“I was probably drunk at the time,” Isak mutters as Even wraps his arms around his shoulders, hugging him like he hasn’t seen him for days. Well, it’s been about an hour since Isak snuck out of bed, trying to escape the inevitable explanation of why he was still in the flat downstairs when the kids woke up. He had overslept once, and ended up with Freya squeezed between the two of them, being kicked in the shins and told to make breakfast.

It had been quite funny, but he’s an adult, and they had talked about not making too many changes for the children at once, and easing into this whole new relationship slowly. 

It’s been almost three months, and Isak is still to have a full night's sleep in his own bed. 

It’s just not right, lying up here in his own cold bed when downstairs there is a bed full of warmth and kisses and homely comforts like sex on tap and naked skin and….

“Where is your milk?”

“We used it up,” Freya quips. “You are going shopping later anyway, Isak said.”

“It’s Showtime tonight, Dad.” Thor cackles. “Time to own up to Mum. You have a boyfriend and you are loving it,” he raps, making hand gestures that make Freya laugh.

“I have a boyfriend indeed,” Even raps back. “He’s my homeboy, and I luffs him.”

“Daddy, stop it. You are really embarrassing,” Freya mutters. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question. I need a pool, and my own room and a bed with a slide.”

“We live in a flat, Freya,” Even says calmly. “We are limited to space, and there is no way you can install a pool in a flat.”

“But in our new house. We can buy a house with a pool. Isak said I can have a pool.”

“I did not say you could have a pool,” Isak tries to defend himself, but Even obviously not buying it from the way he is staring at him. 

“You told them?” he says, looking stern.

“No!!” Isak shouts. 

“Chill Dad-dude.” Thor empties the last of his glass of juice. Then empties the rest of the carton into his glass, throwing the carton towards the sink, missing by a few millimeters as the carton bounces against the fridge door. 

“THOR!” Even bellows.

“DAD!” Thor shouts back.”CHILL? It’s just a carton.”

“This is not your house, have some respect.”

“We have actually established that we live here, since Freya here is in her pyjamas. So a non valid opinion, Dad.”

“It’s fine,” Isak starts. “It’s just a carton.”

“It’s not fine. It’s bloody nerve wracking and ridiculous and I want this all to go well and sorry kids, I should have told you what we are discussing with Mum and Thomas tonight. It’s not fair not to keep you in the loop.”

“You want to buy a house. That has a pool,” Freya says, lifting the cereal bowl up to her mouth and drinking the milk. 

Even seems to just sigh as the madness just happens. It’s become quite normal, the shouting, the spillages, the lack of food, the empty cartons, and Isak sits himself down opposite Thor as Even crosses his arms over his chest.

“If we are going to be a family we need to start behaving like proper human beings,” he says as Isak smiles.

“Then I will need coffee,” he says, cocking his head towards the machine which Even still hasn’t put any coffee grounds in. He might as well do it himself, but then sitting here, watching Even potter around, wearing nothing but joggers and a threadbare t-shirt, which shows off his fine physique. Isak could just sit here and watch him. Forever. As long as he will get coffee. Eventually.

“We...Isak and I, would like to live in the same house,” Even starts.

“Dad, you live in the same house. You are so silly,” Freya says, letting one last drop of milk drip from her cereal bowl onto the table surface. “Look, it’s a milk blob!!”

“So you want to sell both flats and buy a cool house,” Thor says. “Freya and I need rooms. Mine needs to be big enough for a proper gaming station.”

“Yours will be big enough for a desk and a bed. You are still at school, and will need to study.” Isak shouldn’t get involved, but then? It’s going to be his house too, and Even, he has learned has these kids wrapped around his little fingers….and vice versa. Next thing Even will have a pool on order and gaming stations in every room. He’s started to learn these things, because Even will do anything for these kids and Isak will do anything for Even which means Isak will need to start reading up on pool maintenance despite knowing that anyone buying an outdoor pool in Norway is a fool. Fact. So. Isak is probably a fool.

“Even, we could have a pool.”

“Are you mad?” Even hisses. “Don’t give them ideas.”

“See? Isak is a cool dude. We could so have a pool in our new crib.” Thor sounds serious. “Think about it, dude.”

“This crib? This will be a cheap crib, because we will probably only afford a small house with a tiny garden and a car that isn’t missing a gasket so we can drive you back and forth to Mum’s place and school. So forget the pool.” 

Even has actually managed to do something that resembles coffee making, and the scent of morning slowly fills the air.

“I’m not changing schools, I’m just putting that out there now.” Thor bangs his fist on the table. “That, is non-negotioable. Is that what it is called? Non-negotioable?”

“Non negotiable” Isak says weakly.”I think. Is it Non negotiable? Or Negnotiable? God, I haven’t even had coffee, don’t start me on spelling, not this early in the morning.”

“I don’t want to move. I want to go to school with Jasmina, and she lives really close to school.” Freya is suddenly all tearful, as Even sighs. 

“We should...!” Isak starts excitedly, before stopping himself. Because suddenly he is filled with that now almost familiar feel again. This, he realizes, is his future. Day in, day out. This. Kids. A partner. A life so unfamiliar and terrifying that he almost stands up and walks out the door. At the same time he realizes that he never wants to leave, because this? Having all this? 

It’s actually...cool. Seriously cool. Him? Him, the eternal bachelor who doesn’t need anything or anyone? That same person is sitting here feeling terrified of losing what he still hasn’t fully got. His own people. Kids. Even. 

It’s almost as Even can read his mind as he leans across the worktop and reaches out to stroke Isak’s cheek. 

  
“You’re terrified, aren’t you,” he says softly.

“Scared of a couple of children.” Thor teases, tapping away at his phone. “We’re not that scary, really, just be chill, Isak,” he says, in a display of sudden kindness, enough to make Isak’s eyes well up with ridiculous waterworks. 

“I love you,” he says. “All of you.” Then he blushes, because he is, truly, not chill right now.

And what the fuck? This is not him. This is not things that should be coming out of his mouth right now. It’s crazy talking, and Isak? Isak has clearly lost his mind.

“I love you guys, and fuck it, I want a pool.”

Even is staring at him again, that stare he does when he can’t quite believe what is happening. It’s the same stare he had when Isak had said it the first time. The same stare he had when Isak first mentioned living together. The first time he asked to meet Sonja. It’s that familiar. The stare where Even can’t quite process what is happening. 

“No biscuiting at the breakfast table.” Freya singsongs, drawing with her fingers in the now quite large pool of milk on the table. 

“No biscuiting.” Isak laughs, his head spinning with a mix of euphoria and fear. “But we’re having a pool. I have worked all my life and now I want a house with a pool. I biscuit deserve a pool!”

“No pool,” Even booms. “Are you mad? Do you know how much heating a pool costs?”

“I don’t think I care,” Isak laughs, getting up and throwing his arms around the ridiculous man trying to pour coffee into mugs. “I think all I care about right now….is you. And us. And this. Biscuits. Whatever.”

It’s the truth, Isak knows that. It might be a quick whirlwind lockdown romance, and they might only be kneedeep into something that is truly out of control, but fuck it...biscuits. He’s here, he’s happy, and whatever. 

“I love you,” he says. “ And the man in his arms kisses his lips and hands him a cup of coffee. 

“I love you too, you silly thing.” Even says back. “Now cut me a slice of that bread before I faint with hunger, and kids? Downstairs and get dressed, we have like 15 minutes before we need to leave and I have things to talk to Isak about. 

“Kissy Kissy!” Freya teases as she slams her palm into the table, splashing milk everywhere. “Oops!” she says and looks at Isak with a grin blooming under her blush.

“Oops indeed,” he says back as she runs out the room, and Isak gives Thor a high five as they pass. 

“I never thought someone would lock me down in lockdown.” Even laughs. “I love that you did.”

“Lock down indeed. Look at me. I used to be a happy bachelor, and now?”

“You’ve promised my daughter a pool. Have you got any idea of what you have done?”

“Nope.” Isak laughs, and pouts for a kiss. “I haven’t got a biscuity clue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are quite proud of our 15 chapter fic....but there is always the risk of another 15 chapter epilogue at some point. We have been known to come up with ideas and just run with them...
> 
> Anyway, this was quite a satisfying little story, letting both of us let out some lockdown steam and hopefully entertaining you in the process. This year has been weird and horrible in so many ways, but if we can make you laugh, smile and forget about real life for a few minutes at a time? Then our work is done.  
> Thank you for reading, thank you for laughing, and thank you for commenting. 
> 
> A huge thank you to Pagni who once again got roped into writing with me, and thank you for having the most fun ideas. We make a good team. And my lack of commas is getting better thanks to Pagni whipping me into shape! 
> 
> Stay safe, keep smiling, and Alt er Love, Always.   
> S and P


End file.
